"Why?" inquired the girl.
"Else I shouldn't have come into your yard," was the reply. "It's the first time we have ever put into Woodhatch, and I might have sailed away and never seen you. Where should we have been but for that fat policeman?"
Miss Pilbeam—as soon as she could get her breath—said, "Ah, where indeed!" and for the first time in her life began to feel the need of a chaperon.
"Funny to think of him hunting for me high and low while I am sitting here," said the skipper.
Miss Pilbeam agreed with him, and began to laugh—to laugh so heartily that he was fain at last to draw his chair close to hers and pat her somewhat anxiously on the back. The treatment sobered her at once, and she drew apart and eyed him coldly.
"I was afraid you would lose your breath," explained the skipper, awkwardly. "You are not angry, are you?"
He was so genuinely relieved when she said, "No," that Miss Pilbeam, despite her father's wrongs, began to soften a little. The upsetter of policemen was certainly good-looking; and his manner towards her so nicely balanced between boldness and timidity that a slight feeling of sadness at his lack of moral character began to assail her.
"Suppose you are caught after all?" she said, presently. "You will go to prison."
The skipper shrugged his shoulders. "I don't suppose I shall be," he replied.
"Aren't you sorry?" persisted Miss Pilbeam, in a vibrant voice.