The temporary retirement of Mrs. Shallop had given Olive much more leisure. At first the selfish woman had tried her level best to compel the girl to share her self-imposed seclusion, but Olive had firmly declined to submit. She had already endured considerable discomfort on her employer's behalf, and had borne the almost continuous "nagging" without a murmur; but now the breaking-strain had been exceeded, and the bullying woman had to admit defeat.
Consequently Peter saw Olive a good deal. They were firm pals. There was nothing sloppishly sentimental about the girl. She was merely a jolly little person emerging from the temporary cloud of reserve caused by the depressing influence of the naval captain's daughter.
She had been fully initiated into the mysteries of the wireless-room; she had taken equal interest in the complicated machinery of the engine-room; and, since leaving Cape Town, Captain Bullock had given her permission to go on the bridge whenever she wished. She had coaxed Anstey into showing her how to "shoot the sun" and to use the Nautical Almanac in order to work out the ship's position. Even the secuni in the wheelhouse so far forgot his duty as to allow the Missie Sahib to take the wheel.
But undoubtedly her interest was keenest in sailing. Both Preston and Anstey had promised to give her a run in one of the West Barbican's sailing-boats while the ship was at Durban. This promise they severally performed, but to a certain extent the beat to windward and the run home on the spacious but shallow water of the harbour was a disappointment to Olive—since neither man had offered to let her take the tiller.
Dinner over—Peter had very little appetite—Olive Baird went on deck, and somehow, whether by accident or design, Mostyn found her standing on the starboard side of the promenade-deck, gazing at the moon as it rose apparently out of the Indian Ocean.
"What a topping evening, Mr. Mostyn," observed the girl. "Just fine for a sail."
She gave a glance at one of the quarter-boats, an eighteen-foot gig fitted with a centre-board.
"'Fraid it can't be done," remarked Peter, with a laugh. "Stopping vessels in mid-ocean for the purpose of giving lady passengers a spin in one of the boats isn't usual. Might work it when we arrive at Bulonga. You're fond of sailing, I notice."
"I love it," declared the girl enthusiastically. "Do you?"
"Yes, rather," agreed Peter; "so long as there's not too much of it."