Captain Stone nodded solemnly.
“That is the way the master of a ship should die,” he declared. “Your father, Mr. Knowles, was a man and he died like one. He was my first American acquaintance and he gave me a new idea of Yankees—if you'll excuse my calling them that, sir.”
Hephzy had a comment to make.
“There are SOME pretty fair Yankees,” she observed, drily. “ALL the good folks haven't moved back to England yet.”
The captain solemnly assured her that he was certain of it.
“Though two of the best are on their way,” I added, with a wink at Hephzy. This attempt at humor was entirely lost. Our companion said he presumed I referred to Mr. and Mrs. Van Hook, who sat next him at table.
“And that leads me to ask if Miss Cahoon and yourself will not join us,” he went on. “I could easily arrange for two places.”
I looked at Hephzy. Her face expressed decided disapproval and she shook her head.
“Thank you, Captain Stone,” I said; “but we have a table to ourselves and are very comfortable. We should not think of troubling you to that extent.”
He assured us it would not be a trouble, but a pleasure. We were firm in our refusal, however, and he ceased to urge. He declared his intention of seeing that our quarters were adequate, offered to accompany us through the engine-rooms and the working portions of the ship whenever we wished, ordered the deck steward, who was all but standing on his head in obsequious desire to oblige, to take good care of us, shook hands once more, and went away. Hephzibah drew a long breath.