'I am glad,' she said humbly, 'that my sister will be at Plymouth to meet me.'
'Did you,' inquired the sailor, 'write from Port Said to Miss Gilholme?'
She raised her head with a questioning air, but did not look up.
'Miss Gilholme,' she repeated—'how do you know her name?'
'Oh,' laughed the captain, 'I am a sort of walking directory. There is a constant procession of men and women passing before me. Many of them turn aside and say a few words. Sometimes we find mutual acquaintances, sometimes only mutual interests. Sometimes they pass by again, and on occasion we become friends.'
'Then you have not met her?'
'No—I have not had that pleasure.'
'It is a pleasure,' said the beautiful woman very earnestly. Had she only known it, her face was infinitely lovelier in grave repose than in most piquante bouderie.
'I can quite believe it,' replied the sailor, with a gallantry which even Mrs. Huston could not take as anything more than conventional.
'She is my guardian angel!' murmured she pathetically.