“Barry Gallagher.”
This paper I folded, and returned on deck in the hope of finding some means of getting it into my lady’s hands.
Just as I passed the cook’s galley, I came upon Norah, the maid, coming out with a tray on which was a little bottle of wine and a plate of biscuits. As we suddenly met, the tray slipped from her hand and fell to the floor, spilling the contents of the bottle and scattering the biscuits.
“Ach, but you’re clumsy!” exclaimed the damsel.
It was on the point of my tongue to return the compliment in her own language; but I remembered myself, and with a Frenchman’s politeness begged ten thousand pardons.
“Permit that I assist you to make good the damage, mademoiselle,” said I.
This mollified her, and she bade me hold the tray and pick up the biscuits while she went for another bottle of wine.
When she returned, nothing would content me but that I should carry the tray for her to the door of her lady’s cabin, which she graciously permitted, with a coquettish glance at Martin as we passed him on deck.
My agitation, if I betrayed any, was not all due to the fascinations of Miss Norah, and Martin had no cause to be jealous on that score. The truth was, that between the two top biscuits on the dish I had slipped my little note!
“Merci bien, monsieur,” said Norah at the door as she took the tray; “and it’s sorry I am I called you names.”