The young man's first move, after recovery, was to make sure that the door between the kitchen and the hall leading to the lightkeeper's bedroom was shut. It was, fortunately. The young lady watched him in silence, though her eyes were shining.
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” she observed, gravely.
The assistant murmured a good morning, from force of habit.
“There's another piece you haven't picked up,” continued the visitor, pointing.
Brown picked up the piece.
“Is Mr. Atkins in?” inquired the girl.
“Yes, he's—he's in.”
“May I see him, please?”
“I—I—”
“If he's busy, I can wait.” She seated herself in a chair. “Don't let me interrupt you,” she continued. “You were busy, too, weren't you?”