“Don’t say anything about it,” replied the mate, eyeing her admiringly. “I’d do more than that for you, if I could.”
Miss Tipping, catching her mother’s eye, bestowed upon her a glance of complacent triumph.
“You don’t mind us coming down here, do you?” she said, languishingly.
“I wish you’d live here,” said the unscrupulous Fraser; “but of course I know you only come here to try and see that fellow Robinson,” he added, gloomily.
“I like to see you, too,” was the reply. “I like you very much, as a friend.”
The mate in a melancholy voice thanked her, and to the great annoyance of the cook, who had received strict orders from the forecastle to listen as much as he could, sat in silence while the table was cleared.
“What do you say to a hand at cards?” he said, after the cook had finally left the cabin.
“Three-handed cribbage,” said Mrs. Tipping, quickly; “it’s the only game worth playing.”
No objection being raised, the masterful lady drew closer to the table, and concentrating energies of no mean order on the game, successfully played hands of unvarying goodness, aided by a method of pegging which might perhaps be best described as dot and carry one.
“You haven’t seen anything of this Mr. Robinson since you were here last, I suppose?” said Fraser, noting with satisfaction that both ladies gave occasional uneasy glances at the clock.