“Humph!” Her employer eyed her sharply. “So? And so soon? Talk about the telegraph spreadin' news! I'd back most any half dozen tongues in Bayport to spread more news, and add more trimmin' to it, in a day than the telegraph could do in a week. Especially if all the telegraph operators was like the one up at the depot. Well, Georgianna, when you goin' to leave?”
“Leave? Leave where? What are you talkin' about?”
“Leave here. Of course you realize that this ship of ours,” indicating the house by a comprehensive wave of his hand around the room, “is goin' to be a mighty unpopular craft from now on. We may be on a lee shore any minute. You've got your own well-bein' to think of.”
“My own well-bein'! What do you s'pose I care for my well-bein' when there's—Cap'n Whittaker, you tell me now! Is it so?”
“Some of it is—yes. He's come back and he's who he says he is. You've seen him. He was here all day yesterday.”
“So Angie said, but I couldn't scarcely believe it. That toughy! Cap'n Whittaker, do you intend to hand over that poor little innocent thing to—to such a man as THAT?”
“No. There'll be no handin' over about it. But the odds are against us, and there's no reason why you should be in the rumpus, Georgianna. You may not understand what we're facin'.”
The housekeeper drew herself up. Her face was very red and her small eyes snapped.
“Cy Whittaker,” she began, manners and deference to employer alike forgotten, “don't you say no more of that wicked foolishness to me. I'll leave the minute you're mean-spirited enough to let that child go and not afore. And when THAT happens I'll be GLAD to leave. Land sakes! there's somebody at the door; and I expect I'm a perfect sight.”
She rubbed her face with her apron, thereby making it redder than ever, and hurried into the dining room.