“Must have done,” said Fraser, slowly. He stood looking at the girl before him, at her dark hair and shining dark eyes, inwardly wondering why the captain, a fervid admirer of the sex, had not mentioned her.
“Will you come on board and wait?” he asked. “I’ll bring a chair up on deck for you if you will.”
The girl stood a moment in consideration, and then, with another faint reference to the distance of Poplar from Wapping, assented. The mate sprang nimbly into the ratlins, and then, extending a hand, helped her carefully to the deck.
“How nice it feels to be on a ship again!” said the girl, looking contentedly about her, as the mate brought up a canvas chair from below. “I used to go with my father sometimes when he was alive, but I haven’t been on a ship now for two years or more.”
The mate, who was watching her closely, made no reply. He was thinking that a straw hat with scarlet flowers went remarkably well with the dark eyes and hair beneath it, and also that the deck of the schooner had never before seemed such an inviting place as it was at this moment.
“Captain Flower keeps his ship in good condition,” said the visitor, somewhat embarrassed by his gaze.
“He takes a pride in her,” said Fraser; “and it’s his uncle’s craft, so there’s no stint. She never wants for paint or repairs, and Flower’s as nice a man to sail under as one could wish. We’ve had the same crew for years.”
“He’s very kind and jolly,” said the girl.
“He’s one of the best fellows breathing,” said the mate, warmly; “he saved my life once—went overboard after me when we were doing over ten knots an hour, and was nearly drowned himself.”
“That was fine of him,” said Miss Tyrell, eagerly. “He never told me anything about it, and I think that’s rather fine too. I like brave men. Have you ever been overboard after anybody?”