"You are not so very sorry we were blown off, after all?" he asked.
The girl smiled. "No," she said; "I managed to sleep through a good deal of it, and now I feel almost as fresh as if I had stayed ashore. Besides, this would make up for anything. One could almost wish we could sail south with the topsail up under the moonlight—forever. In spite of the bad weather, I have been so well since I came to sea."
"Just the three of us?" asked Jimmy unguardedly.
He saw the twinkle in the girl's eyes as she glanced at her companion, who sat close by.
"I wonder," she said, "whether you would like that, Anthea? I almost think I should."
The moonlight sufficed to show the faint tinge of color in Anthea's face, but she laughed. "And what about your father?"
Nellie Austerly did not appear concerned. "It is very undutiful, for he must have been anxious; but I really can't help feeling amused when I think of him and Mr. Valentine being left on the beach to sleep in the Siwash rancherie. One understands they are rather dreadful places, and he is so horribly particular, you know."
Anthea said nothing further, and presently the two girls went below, but they were about again when, soon after six o'clock next morning, Jimmy beat the Sorata into the Inlet. Indeed, he left Anthea at the tiller while he went into the saloon to look for a piece of spun yarn which Valentine kept in one of the lockers. Nellie Austerly smiled at him as he opened it.
"I suppose we shall be in very soon, and I want to thank you now for bringing me back safe," she said. "Anthea, of course, can thank you for herself."
Jimmy felt a trifle embarrassed. "I really don't see why she should. I think the charter covers anything I have done."