“Not I,” he said; “but my beautiful white decks have got rather into a mess. I am glad you saw them while they were dry, Mrs. Lavender. Now I am going below to make myself a swell, for we’re all going to have luncheon on shore, ain’t we?”
Johnny went below very well pleased with himself. He had called her Mrs. Lavender without wincing. He had got over all the awkwardness of a second introduction by the happy notion of plunging after the hat. He had to confess, however, that the temperature of the sea was not just what he would have preferred for a morning bath.
By and by he made his appearance in his best suit of blue and brass buttons, and asked Mrs. Lavender if she would now come down and see the cabin.
“I think you want a good glass of whisky,” old Mackenzie said, as they all went below; “the water it is ferry cold just now.”
“Yes,” Johnny said, blushing, “we shall all celebrate the capture of the hat.”
It was the capture of the hat, then, that was to be celebrated by this friendly ceremony. Perhaps it was, but there was no mirth now on Sheila’s face.
“And you will drink first, Sheila,” her father said, almost solemnly, “and you will drink to your husband’s health.”
Sheila took the glass of raw whisky in her hand, and looked around timidly. “I cannot drink this, papa,” she said. “If you will let me—”
“You will drink that glass to your husband’s health, Sheila,” old Mackenzie said, with unusual severity.
“She shall do nothing of the sort if she doesn’t like it?” Johnny Eyre cried, suddenly, not caring whether it was the wrath of old Mackenzie or of the devil that he was braving; and forthwith he took the glass out of Sheila’s hand and threw the whisky on the floor. Then he pulled out a champagne bottle from a basket and said, “This is what Mrs. Lavender will drink.”