“Why, Hilda Stretton, my companion.”
“I have never seen her.”
“Oh, yes, you did; she was standing at the companion-way and was coming with me when I preferred to come with you.”
“I did not see her,” I said, shaking my head; “I saw no one but you.”
The young lady laughed merrily,—a melodious ripple of sound. I have heard women’s laughter compared to the tinkle of silver bells, but to that musical tintinnabulation was now added something so deliciously human and girlish that the whole effect was nothing short of enchanting. Conversation now ceased, for we were drawing close to the shore. I directed the crew where to land, and the young lady sprang up the steps without assistance from me,—before, indeed, I could proffer any. I was about to follow when one of the sailors touched me on the shoulder.
“The old man,” he said in a husky whisper, nodding his head toward the yacht, “told me to tell you that when you buy that crockery you’re not to let Miss Hemster know anything about it.”
“Aren’t you coming?” cried Miss Hemster to me from the top of the wharf.
I ascended the steps with celerity and begged her pardon for my delay.
“I am not sprightly seventeen, you see,” I said.
She laughed, and I put her in a ’rickshaw drawn by a stalwart Japanese, got into one myself, and we set off for the main shopping street. I was rather at a loss to know exactly what the sailor’s message meant, but I took it to be that for some reason Mr. Hemster did not wish his daughter to learn that he was indulging so freely in dinner sets. As it was already three o’clock in the afternoon, I realized that there would be some difficulty in getting the goods aboard by five o’clock, unless the young lady dismissed me when we arrived at the shops. This, however, did not appear to be her intention in the least; when our human steeds stopped, she gave me her hand lightly as she descended, and then said, with her captivating smile: