“Pretty well, miss, thank'ee,” replied Mr. Wilks, “considering,” he added, truthfully, after a moment's reflection.
Miss Nugent dropped into a chair and put her feet on the fender. Her father eyed her restlessly.
“I came here to speak to Sam about a private matter,” he said, abruptly.
“Private matter,” said his daughter, looking round in surprise. “What about?”
“A private matter,” repeated Captain Nugent. “Suppose you come in some other time.”
Kate Nugent sighed and took her feet from the fender. “I'll go and wait in the kitchen,” she said, crossing to the door.
Both men protested. The captain because it ill-assorted with his dignity for his daughter to sit in the kitchen, and Mr. Wilks because of the visitor already there. The face of the steward, indeed, took on such extraordinary expressions in his endeavour to convey private information to the girl that she gazed at him in silent amazement. Then she turned the handle of the door and, passing through, closed it with a bang which was final.
Mr. Wilks stood spellbound, but nothing happened. There was no cry of surprise; no hasty reappearance of an indignant Kate Nugent. His features working nervously he resumed his seat and gazed dutifully at his superior officer.
“I suppose you've heard that my son is going to get married?” said the latter.
“I couldn't help hearing of it, sir,” said the steward in self defence— “nobody could.”