“I remember--stout. Not the daughter, the old woman, I mean. Oh--yes. Where are they going?”
“To Malta.”
It was perfectly obvious, even to Luke, that the Ingham-Bakers’ immediate or projective destination was a matter of the utmost indifference to Fitz, who was more interested in the Croonah than in her passengers.
They were both conscious of an indefinite feeling of disappointment. This meeting after years of absence was not as it should be. Something seemed to stand between them--a shadow, a myth, a tiny distinction. Luke, with characteristic pessimism, saw it first--felt its chill, intangible presence before his less subtle-minded brother. Then Fitz saw it, and, as was his habit, he went at it unhesitatingly
“Gad!” he explained, “I am glad to see you, old chap. Long time, isn’t it, since we saw each other? You must come back with me, and have lunch or something. The men will be awfully glad to make your acquaintance. You can look over the ship, though she is not much to look at, you know! Not up to this. She is a fine ship, Luke! What can she steam?”
“She can do her twenty,” answered the second officer of the Croonah, indifferently.
“Yes, she looks it. Well, can you get away now?”
Luke shook his head.
“No,” he answered almost ungraciously, “I can’t leave the ship.”
“What! Not to come and look over the Kittiwake?” Fitz’s face fell visibly. He did not seem to be able to realise that any one should be equal to relinquishing without a murmur the opportunity of looking over the Kittiwake.