Vane laughed. “As I can only take one hand from the helm, you will have to cut up the bread and canned stuff for me. Draw that box out and sit down beneath the coaming if you mean to stay.”
She did as he told her. The well was some four feet long, and the bottom of it about half that distance below the level of the deck. As the result of this, she sat close to his feet, while he balanced himself on the coaming, gripping the tiller. He noticed that she had brought an oilskin jacket with her.
“Hadn’t you better put this on first? There’s a good deal of spray,” she said.
Vane struggled into the jacket with some difficulty, and she smiled as she handed him up a slice of bread and canned meat. “I suppose,” she said, “you can only manage one piece at once?”
“Thank you. That’s about as much as you could expect one to be capable of, even allowing for the bushman’s appetite. I’m surprised to see you looking so fresh.”
“Oh!” said the girl, “I used to go out with the mackerel boats at home; we lived at the ferry. It was a mile across the lough, and with the wind westerly the sea worked in.”
“The lough?” said Vane. “I told Carroll you were from the Green Isle.”
It struck him that this was, perhaps, imprudent, since it implied that they had been discussing her; but, on the other hand, he thought the candour of the statement was in his favour. Then he added: “Have you been long out here?”
Her face grew wistful. “Four years,” she answered. “I came out with Larry—he’s my brother. He was a forester at home, and he took small contracts for clearing land. Then he married—and I left him.”
Vane made a sign of comprehension. “I see. Where’s Larry now?”