She laughed openly at him as she went into the kitchen, and he followed her and helped her clear away obediently and smiling.
"And now, we'll go over," she said, when everything was in place again. "Get me my long blue cape, Francis, please. It's hanging against the door in my room."
He came and wrapped her in it, and crossed with her the space between the two cabins.
"They're up yet," he said, and knocked on the door.
CHAPTER VIII
There was nothing surprising or exciting to behold when the door flew open, and the two entered.
"Oh, I've met you before," said Marjorie politely to the man who had opened it. She had danced with him the night before, and it was pleasant to find that she had not to deal entirely with strangers. He was a tired-looking, middle-aged Englishman, with a tanned, plump face that had something whimsical and what Marjorie characterized to herself as motherly about it. And the fact that he was clad in a flannel shirt and very disreputable overalls did not make him the less distinctively gentle-bred. He greeted her courteously, and took out his pipe—a pipe that was even more disreputable than his clothes.
"Mrs. Ellison wanted to come over to-night and see what she had to do,"
Francis explained.
"You mean that you were in earnest about her volunteering to take Pierre's place?" demanded the Englishman, looking at the little smiling figure in pink organdy.
"I know I look useless," interposed Marjorie for herself. "But Mr. Ellison will tell you that I really can work hard. If somebody will only show me a little about the routine I'll be all right."