“Shocking,” said the latter.
“And now you’ve got your own ship again,” said the girl, “weren’t your crew delighted to see you?”
“I’ve not seen them yet,” said Flower, hesitatingly. “I shipped on another craft this morning before the mast.”
“Before the mast,” repeated the girl, in amazement.
“Full-rigged ship Golden Cloud bound for New Zealand,” said Flower, slowly, watching the effect of his words—“we’re to be shipmates.”
Poppy Tyrell started up with a faint cry, but Flower drew her gently down again.
“We’ll be married in New Zealand,” he said, softly, “and then we’ll come back and I’ll have my own again. Jack told me you were going out on her. Another man has got my craft; he lost the one he had before, and I want to give him a chance for a few months, poor chap, to redeem his character. Besides, it’ll be a change. We shall see the world. It’ll just be a splendid honeymoon.”
“You didn’t tell Captain Martin?” enquired the girl, as she drew back in her chair and eyed him perplexedly.
“Not likely,” said Flower, with a laugh. “I’ve shipped in the name of Robert Orth. I bought the man’s discharges this morning. He’s lying in bed, poor chap, waiting for his last now, and hoping it’ll be marked ‘v. g.’”
Poppy was silent. For a moment her eyes, dark and inscrutable, met Fraser’s; then she looked away, and in a low voice addressed Flower.