This amused Annie. They had both been gazing out towards the schooners, and he had read her thoughts. He went on: “You know it's not really fair. These sailor fellows always get the best of us. He named his schooner after you, didn't he?”
“Oh, no, I don't believe so.”
“Sailors and soldiers—it's the same the world over! There's no chance for us common fellows when they are about. Tell you what I shall have to do—join the militia and come around in full uniform. Then maybe you would be looking at me, too. I don't know but what I could even make you forget him.”
She had to laugh at this. “Maybe you could.”
“I suppose it wouldn't do me any good to try without the uniform, would it?”
She tossed her head now. “So that's what you think of me—that I care for nothing but clothes?”
“Oh, no, it's not the clothes. His red shirt would never do it. But it's the idea of a sailor's life—there is a sort of glitter about it—he seems pluckier, somehow, than other men. It's the dash and the grand-stand play that fetches it. I suppose it wouldn't be a bit of use to tell you that you are too good for him.”
She made no reply, and the conversation halted. Annie gazed pensively out across the water. He watched her, and as the moments slipped away his expression began to change; for he was still a young man, and the witchery of the night was working within him.
“Do you know, I'm pretty nearly mean enough to tell you some things about Dick Smiley. I don't know but what I'm a little jealous of him.”
She did not turn, or speak.