"I have my father left," she went on; "and he's the best father in the world."
"And the luckiest," put in Drew.
"He didn't want to take me on this trip at first," she continued, "but the most of my relatives and friends are in California, and I knew I'd be horribly lonely in New York. So I begged and teased him to let me go along, and at last he gave in."
"Of course he would," Drew said with conviction. "How could he help it?"
He knew that if she should ask him, Allen Drew, for the moon he would promise it to her without the slightest hesitation. He wished he dared tell her so.
"Have you ever been to sea?" she asked.
"No," replied Allen. "But I've always wanted to go."
And he told her of the longing that had sprung up in him when Captain Peters had spoken so indifferently about the wonder-lands of mystery and romance to which his bark was sailing.
While he talked, she was studying him closely, as is the way of girls, without appearing to do so. She noted the stalwart well-knit figure, the handsome features—the strong straight nose, the broad forehead, the brown eyes that sparkled with animation.
Drew was at his best when he talked, especially when his audience was attentive, and there was no doubt that his audience of one was that. She listened almost in silence only putting in a word now and then.