CHAPTER VIII.
The bewildered master of the Foam spent the remainder of the time at Seabridge in a species of waking nightmare.
A grey-haired dressmaker and a small apprentice sat in the Banks’ best parlour, and from a chaos of brown paper patterns stuck over with pins a silk dress of surpassing beauty began slowly to emerge. As a great concession Flower was allowed to feel the material, and even to rub it between his finger and thumb in imitation of Captain Barber, who was so prone to the exercise that a small piece was cut for his especial delectation. A colour of unwonted softness glowed in the cheek of Elizabeth and an air of engaging timidity tempered her interview with Flower, who had to run the gauntlet of much friendly criticism on the part of his fair neighbours.
Up to the time of sailing for London again the allusion to Mrs. Church’s departure, desired by Captain Barber, had not been made by the younger man. The housekeeper was still in possession, and shook hands with him at the front door as he limped slowly off with Miss Banks and his uncle to go down to the schooner. His foot was still very bad, so bad that he stumbled three times on the way to the quay despite the assistance afforded by the arm of his betrothed.
“Seems to be no power in it,” he said smiling faintly; “but I daresay it’ll be all right by the time I get back.”
He shook hands with Captain Barber and, as a tribute to conventionality, kissed Miss Banks. The last the two saw of him, he was standing at the wheel waving his handkerchief. They waved their own in return, and as the Foam drew rapidly away gave a final farewell and departed.
“What’s the game with the foot?” enquired the mate, in a low voice.
“Tell you by-and-by,” said the skipper; “it’s far from well, but even if it wasn’t I should pretend it was bad. I suppose that doesn’t suggest anything to you?”
The mate shook his head.
“Can you see any way out of it?” enquired the other. “What would you do if you were in my place?”