“Oh, I cawn’t send it, you know,” I protested. “I must deliver it in person, for it requires an answer before the ship leaves.”
“Lord, you can’t see ’im,” gasped the Briton; “we’re givin’ a ball and ’e’s in the drawrin’-room.”
The sound of our voices had attracted the quartermaster on duty. Behind him appeared a young steward.
“You’d best get ashore quick,” said the sailor; “we’re only waitin’ the fourth mite. Best call a boatman or you’ll get carried off.”
“Really!” I cried, looking anxiously about me, “But I must have an answer, you know.”
“I couldn’t disturb ’im,” wheezed the older steward.
“Well, show me where he is,” I protested.
“Now we’re off in a couple o’ winks,” warned the quartermaster.
“’Ere, mite,” said the youth; “I’ll take you down.”
I followed him to the deck below and along a lighted passageway. My disguise would never stand the glare of a drawing-room. I thrust the note into the hands of my guide.