Alwyn used the respite profitably. He made no attempt to check his figures; that was a mere excuse. Taking up the telephone, he rang up the Captain's cabin. A brief conversation confirmed Miss Vivian's statement, not that he doubted her word, but it was desirable to obtain the Old Man's sanction.
"That leaves me a comparatively free hand," soliloquized the Third Officer, as he replaced the receiver. "There are worse ways of taking a trick than being in the company of a jolly girl."
Jolly she undoubtedly was. Without an atom of side, and utterly devoid of any trace of self-consciousness, Hilda Vivian was decidedly practical without sacrificing her femininity.
Burgoyne's watch passed only too quickly. The girl was a good conversationalist and a splendid listener. Without betraying the faintest sign of boredom she followed the Third Officer's somewhat stereotyped explanations of the various devices upon which the modern navigator depends in order to take his ship, with uncanny accuracy, across thousands of miles of trackless ocean.
And then conversation drifted into other channels. Hilda explained her presence on board. She was an only daughter; her brother had been wounded and missing at Messines, and her mother had never properly recovered from the shock. Colonel Vivian had been in command of a battalion in Egypt and Palestine, and on the homeward voyage the transport had been mined off Cape de Gata, in the course of which he had received an injury to his thigh that had incapacitated him from further active service.
"I know that bit," said Alwyn to himself. He felt pretty certain of it from the moment he saw the colonel board the Donibristle at Vancouver; but now there was no doubt on the matter. He made no audible remark, but allowed his fair companion to "carry on".
After the Armistice Colonel Vivian went on the retired list. He was not a rich man, having little means beyond his pension; and specialists' fees incurred by his wife's illness made a heavy drain upon the colonel's exchequer. One specialist expressed his opinion that the only thing likely to benefit Mrs. Vivian was a voyage round the world. Making sacrifices, Colonel Vivian was now engaged upon the protracted tour, taking passages in cargo-boats with limited accommodation in order to cut down expenses, and prolong the "rest cure" by breaking the voyage in various ports.
"I think the voyage is doing Mother good," continued the girl, "and I am enjoying it—every minute in fact. But I do wish I could have brought Peter——"
"And who is Peter?" asked Burgoyne, so abruptly that he could have bitten his tongue for having shown such a lively interest—or was it resentment?—towards Peter.
"He's simply a dear," replied Hilda. "A sheep-dog, you know. Of course, it was impossible to bring him, owing to quarantine restrictions and all that sort of thing, so we had to leave him with friends. Are you fond of dogs, Mr. Burgoyne?"