"Won't you be seated, Captain Lancaster?"
He dropped mechanically into a chair near him, but the pretty nurse-maid remained standing meekly in the center of the room, her small hands folded before her, a demure look on her fair face.
The caller cleared his throat and began, rather nervously:
"It isn't possible that you expected to go to England as that child's nurse?" he said.
"I had hoped to do so," answered the girl, with a sudden air of chagrin.
"But—ah—really, you know, you're too young, aren't you?" stammered Lancaster, feeling abashed, he knew not why, but maintaining a grave, judicial air.
"Too young? I should hope not. I was eighteen last week," lifting the small head with an air of great dignity.
He could hardly repress a smile, but he put his long, white hand hastily across his lips to hide it from those bright, keen eyes.
"And do you think you can really take good care of Miss West?" he said. "Remember, it is a long trip across the ocean."