"What! Wrecked the vessel?" asked Cynthia breathlessly.
"Yes; drove her ashore."
"Hush!" said the Skipper.
"Tomkins!" called Cynthia.
"For God's sake, Cynthia, don't——"
"Miss Archer, I'm usually called, sir! I believe in always going to the root of every matter."
Cynthia arose from her sitting posture. She stood tall and stately. Her dignified air recalled to my mind a young woman by the name of Portia, of whom I had once read somewhere.
"Be quiet!" said the Skipper, pulling her skirt with a rough jerk. "Sit down!"
Cynthia gently disengaged her skirt from the Skipper's hand. She removed her sunbonnet, and with her pure face turned toward the sheepish Tomkins, she looked like a very young Daniel come to judgment.