"It's all up with Archie this time," laughed Gardenier. "The Frenchman is too fast for him. That shot brought him to his senses."
The daring little merchantman was boarded, and just as the sun set she was seen steaming back towards Foochow, while the Vipère returned to her place of guard.
"This is quite exciting," said Miss MacAllister. "I had little idea when we sailed from Amoy that I was going to get so near to actual war."
"I only hope that you may not get any nearer," replied the consul, a little grimly.
"Why, Mr. Beauchamp? Do you think that there is much prospect of there being fighting right here?"
"I really can't say. I don't know what is in the minds of those Frenchmen. But I do not like the way they are acting. It is pretty much the way they manoeuvred before they bombarded Keelung."
"Wouldn't that be great? To be in the midst of a bombardment!"
"It's not so romantic as it is to read about it in the papers," said the consul. "What do you think, Sinclair? Hallo! What's this? Look here, doctor, I'll have you arrested for alienating the affections of my daughter."
The remark caused all eyes to be turned towards Sinclair. He was seated on one of the battlements. On his knee was perched Constance Beauchamp. One arm was thrown around his neck. With the other hand she was caressing and arranging the heavy waves of his fair hair. A flush appeared under the tan of his face. Before he had time to reply Constance broke in:
"Oh, daddy, I was just asking Dr. Sinclair why he did not let his hair grow long and fall in big curls on his shoulders. Then he would be so handsome. He would be just like the picture of Harold Fair-Hair, King of Norway, in the last story-book Aunt Jo sent me from England. Dr. Sinclair, won't you let your hair grow? Do! For me!"