The gentleman was visibly agitated. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for his latchkey, drew it forth and blew into it. 'Some sand has got in,' he explained.
He was uneasy. He desired to hear more, but was afraid to ask. He desired to see more of that honest fresh face, but he was afraid to meet the clear eyes.
'I suppose Captain Rattenbury is a respectable person?'
'What do you mean by respectable? He is not what you call a gentleman. He's rough on all sides.'
'I did not mean that—a—a good man?'
'He has been very kind to us, and is teaching me to dance.'
'Oh!' Again his face fell.
'That is a bit of polish, I suppose?'
He did not answer. Presently he said, 'My child,' and his heart bounded as he used the term. 'Your name is Winefred, you say. Does your mother have no shorter, more endearing name for you than that?'