“Flying?” queried the interested mate.
“I daresay,” snapped the visitor; “anything to tell me, I suppose. We were to be married by special license. I’d even got my trousseau ready.”
“Got your what ready?” enquired the mate, to whom the word was new, leaning out of his bunk.
“Everything to wear,” explained the visitor. “All my relations bought new clothes, too; leastways, those that could afford it did. He even went and helped me choose the cake.”
“Well, is that wrong?” asked the puzzled mate.
“He didn’t buy it, he only chose it,” said the other, having recourse to her handkerchief again. “He went outside the shop to see whether there was one he would like better, and when I came out he had disappeared.”
“He must have met with an accident,” said the mate, politely.
“I saw him to-night,” said the lady, tersely.
“Once or twice he had mentioned Wapping in conversation, and then seemed to check himself. That was my clue. I’ve been round this dismal heathenish place for a fortnight. To-night I saw him; he came on this wharf, and he has not gone off.... It’s my belief he’s in that room.”
Before the mate could reply the hoarse voice of the watchman came down the company-way. “Ha’ past eleven, sir; tide’s just on the turn.”