She shook her head in disapproval, but the next moment he saw her gazing steadily at the opera-glasses again.
“If you don't look he'll soon get tired of it,” he said, between his teeth.
“Yes, perhaps he will,” said Miss Jewell, without lowering her eyes in the least.
The skipper sat in torment until the lights were lowered and the curtain went up again. When it fell he began to discuss the play, but Miss Jewell returned such vague replies that it was evident her thoughts were far away.
“I wonder who he is?” she whispered, gazing meditatingly at the box.
“A waiter, I should think,” snapped the skipper.
The girl shook her head. “No, he is much too distinguished-looking,” she said, seriously. “Well, I suppose he'll know me again.”
The shipper felt that he wanted to get up and smash things; beginning with the man in the box. It was his first love episode for nearly ten years, and he had forgotten the pains and penalties which attach to the condition. When the performance was over he darted a threatening glance at the box, and, keeping close to Miss Jewell, looked carefully about him to make sure that they were not followed.
“It was ripping,” said the cook, as they emerged into the fresh air.
“Lovely,” said the girl, in a voice of gentle melancholy. “I shall come and see it again, perhaps, when you are at sea.”