The mate rose and mingled with the crowd, conscious of a little occasional clutch at his sleeve whenever other people threatened to come between them. Outside the crowd dispersed slowly, and it was some minutes before they discovered a small but compact knot of two waiting for them.
“Where the—” began Flower.
“I hope you enjoyed the performance, Captain Flower,” said Miss Tyrell, drawing herself up with some dignity. “I didn’t know that I was supposed to look out for myself all the evening. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Fraser I should have been all alone.”
She looked hard at Miss Wheeler as she spoke, and the couple from the pit-stalls reddened with indignation at being so misunderstood.
“I’m sure I didn’t want him,” said Miss Wheeler, hastily. “Two or three times I thought there would have been a fight with the people behind.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Miss Tyrell, composedly. “Well, it’s no good standing here. We’d better get home.”
She walked off with the mate, leaving the couple behind, who realised that appearances were against them, to follow at their leisure. Conversation was mostly on her side, the mate being too much occupied with his defence to make any very long or very coherent replies.
They reached Liston Street at last, and separated at the door, Miss Tyrell shaking hands with the skipper in a way which conveyed in the fullest possible manner her opinion of his behaviour that evening. A bright smile and a genial hand-shake were reserved for the mate.
“And now,” said the incensed skipper, breathing deeply as the door closed and they walked up Liston Street, “what the deuce do you mean by it?”
“Mean by what?” demanded the mate, who, after much thought, had decided to take a leaf out of Miss Tyrell’s book.