She blushed a little as she thought:
“It may be that I resemble the lady whom Captain Courtenay is going to marry. I wonder why he did not show us her photograph that day when Isobel and I visited his cabin and looked at the pictures of his mother and sister. I should like to see her, but how can I manage it? I simply dare not tell him I read that scrap of a letter, even by chance.”
The dog, apparently, found her an excellent substitute; he licked her ear contentedly. That tickled her, and she laughed.
“I fear you are a fickle lover, Joey,” she said aloud. “But you will simply be compelled to remain constant to me while we are in this horrid place, and that may be for the remainder of our lives, dear.”
Joey tried to lick her again to show that he didn’t care. What could any reasonable dog want more than fine weather, enough to eat, and the prospect of an occasional scrimmage?
When Elsie did ultimately climb to the chart-house, the fit of despondency had fled. Boyle was there, having been carried up in a deck chair early in the day. He was alone.
“Huh!” he growled pleasantly. “You’re lookin’ as bright as a new pin, Miss Maxwell. Now, if I had been among the pirates, I’d have taken you with me.”
“Do you mean to say that you are actually paying me compliments?” said she.
“Am I? Huh; didn’t mean to. I’m an old married man. But pirates, especially Spanish ones, are supposed to be very handy with knives and other fellows’ girls.”
“You see they did not consider me a prize.”