She went forward to the skylight as she spoke, and called down, "Below there, Count Gustav!"
"Hello!" a voice replied. "Is that you, Beth? You know you're too big to be on the yacht now without a chaperon."
"Rot!" said Beth.
"Don't be coarse, Beth," Count Gustav remonstrated from below in rather a precious tone. "You know how I dislike hoyden English."
"Well, then, nonsense! if that's any better," Beth rejoined. "You've got to see me—this once at all events, or there'll be a tragedy."
"Oh, in that case," was the resigned reply, "I'll come on deck."
Beth walked aft and waited for him, enthroned on the bulwark, with a coil of rope for her footstool.
When Count Gustav appeared, he looked at her quizzically. "What is the matter, Beth?" he asked. "What are you boiling with indignation about now?"
"About that man Gard," Beth replied. "What do you think he was doing last night? and not for the first time, by his own account. Spying!"
"Spying!" said Bartahlinsky. "Gard, come here."