“True, true, ’tis true. Yet could I be content if I knew my mother was alive.”
“If you are content I am glad. I do not wish to speak a ship, yet I’ll do so.”
“No—I will go home in the Black Watch.”
“I admire your spirit. You have borne up very bravely.”
“To you belongs my gratitude, Señor Fielding. Throughout you have been amiable and tender. The poor captain liked me not. Why was that?” and here she bent her eyes upon me; their expression was a mixture of archness and temper.
“He was in pain, was a little crazy, and would not always be sure of the reasons of his moods.”
“I am not used not to be liked.” I bowed a very full acquiescence. “He was not as you are. But he is dead.” Her hand flashed as she swept it before her face, dismissing the subject with a gesture. “Now that you are captain you will have plenty of leisure.”
“Vaya! Time to spare—and yet command! I shall want you to give me much of your time.”
I looked at her eyes and laughed when I gathered her meaning, and answered: “All the spare time I have shall be yours, señorita. But how much of that spare time will it take to make you weary of my face and voice?”