“And so you are deserting us to-morrow morning, Captain Forreste,” cried a vivacious young matron; “it is too bad of you. The rest of the voyage will be dreadfully triste—for me at any rate.” Every one laughed.
The gallant captain smiled winningly. “Ah, Mrs Marriott, do not make me vain. Yes, we are going to leave you. In fact we should have all gone ashore this evening, but my unfortunate friend, Mr Capel, is not yet fully recovered from the brutal attack to which he was subjected.”
“It was most disgraceful and wicked,” chimed in a second lady.
“And cowardly as well,” added a fat, sleepy-faced dame. “I believe poor Mr Capel was taken quite by surprise.”
“And the way that horrid girl flew at you!” said Mrs Marriott; “but her father being such a horrible bully I suppose she has inherited some of his disposition. She is certainly pretty in a coarse kind of a way, I admit, but terribly gauche. And I really am quite angry with Captain MacAlister—he positively trots after her. She is continually on the bridge with him, and yet he has refused to permit any other ladies to go there, ever since we left Sydney. I think it is scandalous, for I know that Captain MacAlister is a married man with grandchildren.”
The hours passed by, and then at eleven o'clock, to the anger of Forreste, Adlam sauntered up. He had been to the dinner, but had left early. Seating himself beside Kate and Jim, he pulled the boy's ear.
“So you are taking care of Miss Fraser, eh, Jim? Lucky man!”
“Just listen to that now!” said the fat lady to Mrs Marriott. “One would think that Mr Adlam would have more sense than to flatter that girl's vanity. He has quite deserted us since she came on board at Port Denison.”
Kate, serenely unconscious of the criticisms being passed upon her, was listening to the purser's description of the excited state of Cooktown, when Swires appeared, and said to Adlam:
“When are you turning in, sir?”