“I suppose you know best what is to be done,” she said, quietly.
“You leave it to me,” said Flower, in satisfied tones. “I’m at the wheel.”
There was a long silence. Poppy got up and crossed to the window, and, resting her cheek on her hand, sat watching the restless life of the street. The room darkened slowly with the approach of evening. Flower rose and took the seat opposite, and Fraser, who had been feeling in the way for some time, said that he must go.
“You sail to-morrow evening, Jack?” said Flower, with a careless half-turn towards him.
“About six,” was the reply.
“We sail Saturday evening at seven,” said Flower, and took the girl’s hand in his own. “It will be odd to see you on board, Poppy, and not to be able to speak to you; but we shall be able to look at each other, sha’n’t we?”
“Captain Martin is a strict disciplinarian,” said Poppy.
“Well he can’t prevent us looking at each other,” said Flower, “and he can’t prevent us marrying when we get to the other end. Good-night, Jack. Next time you see us we’ll be an old married couple.”
“A quick passage and a safe return,” said Fraser. “Good-night.”
Poppy Tyrell just gave him her small hand, and that was all. Flower, giving him a hearty grip, accompanied him as far as the door of the room.