Miss Fenshawe ran along the gangway. Royson had stationed a sailor at the shoreward end, while he held the rail to steady it on deck.
"Good morning, Mr. King," she cried. "Has not Baron von Kerber arrived?"
"Yes," he said. "He came aboard late last night."
"Then why is he not here to meet us?"
"I believe he is fatigued after the long journey, Miss Fenshawe."
"Fatigued! Fiddlesticks! Look at my grandfather. Is he fatigued? And we have traveled over the same route. But I will deal with the lie-abed Baron when I see him. What a nice boat the Aphrodite is. I am in love with her already. And is that Captain Stump? Good morning, captain. I have heard about you. Baron von Kerber says you will bite my head off if I come on the bridge. Is that true?"
"Shows how little Mr. von Kerber reely knows about me, ma'am," said
Stump gallantly, beaming on her over the rail of the small upper deck.
By this time, Mrs. Haxton had satisfied herself that the Aphrodite's crew might be trusted to bring her boxes on board without smashing them, and she gathered her skirts carefully to keep them clear of the quay. She raised a lorgnon, mounted on a tortoise-shell and silver handle, and examined the yacht with measured glance. She honored the stalwart second officer with a prolonged stare.
"Is that the captain?" she said to Mr. Fenshawe, who was waiting to escort her on board.
"No. That is Mr. King, the young man Irene told you about."