The mate baled out his cup with a spoon and put the contents into the saucer.
“I’m a sort of guardian to her,” said Flower. “Her father, Captain Tyrell, died about a year ago, and I promised him I’d look after her and marry her. It’s a sacred promise.”
“Besides, you want to,” said Fraser, by no means in the mood to allow his superior any credit in the matter, “else you wouldn’t do it.”
“You don’t know me, Jack,” said the skipper, more in sorrow than in anger.
“No, I didn’t think you were quite so bad,” said the mate, slowly. “Is—Miss Tyrell—fond of you?”
“Of course she is,” said Flower, indignantly; “they all are, that’s the worst of it. You were never much of a favourite with the sex, Jack, were you?”
Fraser shook his head, and, the saucer being full, spooned the contents slowly back into the cup again.
“Captain Tyrell leave any money?” he enquired.
“Other way about,” replied Flower. “I lent him, altogether, close on a hundred pounds. He was a man of very good position, but he took to drink and lost his ship and his self-respect, and all he left behind was his debts and his daughter.”
“Well, you’re in a tight place,” said Fraser, “and I don’t see how you’re going to get out of it. Miss Tipping’s got a bit of a clue to you now, and if she once discovers you, you’re done. Besides, suppose Miss Tyrell finds anything out?”