The captain eyed him reproachfully. "I thought your father thought—" he began, and, drawing out a large handkerchief, blew his nose violently.
"Yes?" said Joan, still very erect.
"That is all," said the captain, with an air of dignity.
He brushed some imaginary atoms from his beard, and, finding the girl's gaze still somewhat embarrassing, sought to relieve the tension.
"I've known you since you were five," he said, with inconsequent pathos.
"I know," said Joan, smiling, and putting her hand on his broad shoulder. "You're a dear old stupid; that is all."
"Always was," said the relieved captain, "from a child."
He began, with a cheerful countenance, to narrate anecdotes of his stupidity until, being interrupted by Hartley with one or two choice examples that he had forgotten, he rose and muttered something about seeing the garden. His progress was stayed by a knock at the front door and an intimation from Rosa that he was wanted.
"My bo'sun," he said, reentering the room with a letter. "Excuse me."
He broke the seal, and turned to Hartley with a short laugh. "Peter Truefitt," he said, "wants me to meet him at nine o'clock and go home together, pretending that he has been here with me. Peter is improving."