“I’m afraid Mrs. Gething will be a long time,” said the other man at last.
“I’ll give her a few minutes,” said the skipper, who would have sat there a week with pleasure.
He rubbed his moustache and beard with his handkerchief and put them into shape with his fingers. The other man regarded these operations with an unfavorable eye, and watched him uneasily.
“No message you could leave for Mrs. Gething,” he suggested, after a quarter of an hour.
The skipper shook his head, and in his turn took stock of the other man—a good-looking fellow with a waxed black moustache, a light silk tie and a massive scarf-pin. A frock-coat hung about his knees, and shoes of the lightest brown called attention to his small feet.
Another quarter of an hour passed. “Wet day,” said the skipper, by way of starting the conversation again.
The other assented, and remarked that he thought it very probable that the wet would prevent Mrs. Gething from returning, whereupon conversation languished until the sound of hurried footsteps outside, and the turning of a key in the latch, made them both look up.
“Here she is,” said the skipper softly.
The other man said nothing, feeling possibly that the entrance of Miss Gething was sufficient refutation of the statement. He was also in anything but a talkative mood.
“Mother not in?” said Miss Gething in surprise as she entered the room. “How good of you to wait, captain.”