To his mortification, the girl seemed unaware of his presence, and read steadily, occasionally looking up and chirping with a pair of ravishing lips at a blackbird, which hung in a wicker cage from the mainmast.
“That’s a nice bird,” said the mate, leaning against the side, and turning a look of great admiration upon it.
“Yes,” said the girl, raising a pair of dark blue eyes to the bold brown ones, and taking him in at a glance.
“Does it sing?” inquired the mate, with a show of great interest.
“It does sometimes, when we are alone,” was the reply.
“I should have thought the sea air would have affected its throat,” said the mate, reddening. “Are you often in the London river, miss? I don’t remember seeing your craft before.”
“Not often,” said the girl.
“You’ve got a fine schooner here,” said the mate, eyeing it critically. “For my part, I prefer a sailer to a steamer.”
“I should think you would,” said the girl.
“Why?” inquired the mate tenderly, pleased at this show of interest.