Thus dismissed, I went to the saloon, and there found the lady of whom I was in search, and persuaded her to come up on deck with me. In spite of the vexatious interruption to which we had been forced to submit at this spot, I had become attached to the locality of the two chairs and the wicker table.
“I like this place,” said I, “for its associations, and yet I am certain, the moment we begin to talk, Mr. Hemster will order me overboard, or his daughter will tell you to go down below.”
“There is no immediate danger,” answered Hilda. “Mr. Hemster is busy, and his daughter has not returned from Nagasaki; I suspect, however, that you should be down in the office helping your chief, rather than up here frivolously gossiping with me.”
“I am obeying orders in being up here. My chief, as you call him, told me to search you out and tell you all about it.”
“All about what?”
“Did you tell Mr. Hemster anything of our conversation after I left?”
“Not a word. Poor dear, his mind was occupied with other matters. He talked about you, and fished,—in, oh, such an awkward way,—to find out what I thought of you. He gave me much good counsel which I shall ever treasure, and he warned me to beware of fascinating young men, and not allow myself to become too deeply interested. Indeed I yearned to let him know that his caution was already too late; but, not being sure whether that would ease his mind or cause it greater anxiety, I held my peace. I wish you would tell him. Perhaps I should do it myself, but I cannot find the exact words, I am afraid.”
“I’ll tell him with great pleasure. No, to be honest, I have already told him.”
“Really, and what did he say?”