“Why, hello!” he cried, with hearty enthusiasm. “All rigged up for inspection, ain’t you?”
“Inspection?”
“Oh, that’s just sailor’s lingo. Means you’ve got your Sunday uniform on, that’s all. My! my! how nice you look! But ain’t black pretty old for such a young girl?”
“I am in mourning,” replied his niece, coldly.
“There! there! of course you are. Tut! tut! How could I forget it. You see, I’ve been so many years feelin’ as if I didn’t have a brother that I’ve sort of got used to his bein’ gone.”
“I have not.” Her eyes filled as she said it. The captain was greatly moved.
“I’m a blunderin’ old fool, my dear,” he said. “I beg your pardon. Do try to forgive me, won’t you? And, perhaps—perhaps I can make up your loss to you, just a little mite. I’d like to. I’ll try to, if—”
He laid a hand on her shoulder. She avoided him and, moving away, seated herself in a chair at the opposite side of the desk. The avoidance was so obvious as to be almost brutal. Captain Elisha looked very grave for an instant. Then he changed the subject.
“I was lookin’ at your oil paintin’s,” he said. “They’re pretty fine, ain’t they? Any of them your work, Caroline?”
“My work?” The girl’s astonishment was so great that she turned to stare at her questioner. “My work?” she repeated. “Are you joking? You can’t think that I painted them.”