"I heard a scream here," I replied, determined not to be put out of the way, if my presence or my assistance was needed.
"No, you didn't. That was nothing. Miss Collingsby was singing on the high notes."
I glanced at her. She did not look cheerful enough to sing, but angry enough to touch the high notes, though not the melodious ones.
"I will go down and see you cook, Phil," said she, with a struggle to appear composed, though it was not a success.
I descended to the cabin, and turned to assist her down the steps.
"Stop a few moments, Miss Collingsby, if you please," interposed Mr. Waterford. "I wish to speak to you."
"I will come up again," she replied, leaping lightly upon the cabin floor.
"I am afraid you will find the cook-room rather hot for you," I added, as I led the way forward.
I opened the door into the kitchen, and gave her a seat within the cabin, where she could observe all that was done. I fancied, however, that she did not care much just then how beefsteak and sliced potatoes were cooked on board of a yacht, and that she only desired to escape from the presence of the gallant skipper.
I put the beefsteak upon the stove. I had set the table after preparing the potatoes, and I had nothing to do but watch the meat.