She looked smaller even than by the firelight, small but so exquisitely proportioned that you did not bother about her size. She had no hat, her steadfast seaweed brown eyes were fixed on the men before her and the strange and extraordinary thing was that her face as she gazed at them brought them comfort of a kind.
For Tommie’s face, though small enough, had nothing small in it. It was good to look upon as Truth and Honesty and Courage could make it and Beauty had lent a hand.
Hank put out the chair.
“Will you sit down,” said Hank.
Before sitting down she took a glance round at the deck and the Chink at the wheel. Then as though the pistol were bothering her, she threw it into the scupper. She seemed to have read everything in the situation and found no danger.
“Well,” said she, “what on earth is it all?”
“It’s a mistake,” said Hank.
“So you have told me—but seems to me we are getting further from Santa Barbara, we are going down the coast, aren’t we?”
“We are,” said George, “and I’ll put the ship about right away if you like—only I’d ask you to listen to us first and a few miles more or less don’t matter.”