The Captain, however, was not seeking Miss North. He opened the front door, and advancing to the foot of the stairs, called up: “Ahoy, there! Mrs. North!”
Mrs. North came trotting out to answer the summons. “Why, Alfred!” she exclaimed, looking over the banisters, “when did you come in? I didn't hear the bell ring. I'll come right down.”
“It didn't ring; I walked in,” said the Captain. And Mrs. North came downstairs, perhaps a little stiffly, but as pretty an old lady as you ever saw. Her white curls lay against faintly pink cheeks, and her lace cap had a pink bow on it. But she looked anxious and uncomfortable.
(“Oh,” she was saying to herself, “I do hope Mary's out!)—Well, Alfred?” she said; but her voice was frightened.
The Captain stumped along in front of her into the parlor, and motioned her to a seat. “Mrs. North,” he said, his face red, his eye hard, “some jack-donkeys have been poking their noses (of course they're females) into our affairs; and—”
“Oh, Alfred, isn't it horrid in them?”
“Darn 'em!” said the Captain.
“It makes me mad!” cried Mrs. North; then her spirit wavered. “Mary is so foolish; she says she'll—she'll take me away from Old Chester. I laughed at first, it was so foolish. But when she said that-oh dear!”
“Well, but, my dear madam, say you won't go. Ain't you skipper?”
“No, I'm not,” she said, dolefully. “Mary brought me here, and she'll take me away, if she thinks it best. Best for me, you know. Mary is a good daughter, Alfred. I don't want you to think she isn't. But she's foolish. Unmarried women are apt to be foolish.”