“Steady.”
“Steady it is.”
Whereupon, a straight course being now laid for the little port to which they were bound on the Isle of Wight opposite, the Bembridge Belle steamed ahead, splashing and dashing through the water, that rippled over with laughter in the bright sunshine, lightening up its translucent depths, and leaving a broad silvery wake of dancing eddies behind her.
Chapter Ten.
Afloat—and ashore.
“Sure, I’m almost dead entirely, with all that hurrying and scurrying!” exclaimed Mrs Gilmour, when she was at length got safely on board the little steamer and comfortably placed on a cosy seat aft, near the wheel, to which Captain Dresser had gallantly escorted her. “Really, now, I couldn’t have run another yard, if it had been to save me life!”
She panted out the words with such a racy admixture of her Irish “brogue,” which always became more “pronounced” with her when she was at all excited in any way, that the Captain, even while showing every sympathy for her distressed condition, could not help chuckling as he imitated her tone of voice and accent—much to the amusement of Master Bob and Miss Nellie, you may be sure!
“Sure, an’ there’s no knowin’ what ye can do, now, till ye thry, ma’am!” said he. “Is there, me darlint?”