“Who’s there?” said Norah, quaking.
“Quartermaster, ma’am,” said a deep voice. “Officer of the watch wants to know if your port is uncovered. Light showing on this side.”
Norah explained briefly.
“My curtain was drawn,” she finished; “and my little torch doesn’t give much light. The purser said I might use it.”
“The purser doesn’t have to stand watch at night,” said the quartermaster, acidly. “That there torch of yours must give more light than you think, ma’am. Orders are to close your port if found open and light showing. Can I come in, ma’am?”
He came in; a sternly official figure in oilskins, bearing a shaded lantern. At the sight of the dismayed little figure with the mass of disordered curls, he relented somewhat.
“Oh, it’s you, miss! Now, didn’t you know you was disobeying orders?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Norah, sturdily. “I had leave. And that is all the light my little torch gives.” She pressed the button.
“Well, it don’t look exactly powerful and that’s a fact,” remarked the quartermaster. “Still, orders is orders—and you’d be surprised to see how a light shines out through a winder, miss, when you’re lookin’ down from the bridge.”
“Well, I won’t light it again—not at all—if only you’ll leave the port open,” Norah pleaded. “The ship is stuffy enough without having one’s cabin stuffy too.”