'If that figure's not a woman,' answered Violet, 'it does not speak with the voice of a man.'
After a brief consultation with Mr. Vanderholt, Captain Glew shouted:
'I think we can let you have some sugar—a cask of moist, and some lump, to help you along to the next ship. We'll carry it aboard for you.'
The figure in breeches flourished its hand in a gesture of delight, and then began to walk the short poop with superior stately strides, constantly directing glances at the yacht. The Mowbray carried three good boats, and the boat amidships was the long-boat; this was promptly got over the side. They broke out a cask of moist sugar and a case of lump; and a crew having entered her, Mr. and Miss Vanderholt were steered by Mr. Tweed to the Wife's Hope over the glazed heave of the deep-blue afternoon swell.
Very hot it was. The sunshine tingled in the water, and the trembling fire rose roasting to the face.
'Do you think we shall be welcome, father?' said Miss Vanderholt, a little nervously.
'We are here to see the wonders of the deep,' answered Mr. Vanderholt, 'whether they welcome us or not; and yonder figure seems to me to be one of the greatest wonders in the world.'
'It is a woman, sir,' said Mr. Tweed.
'A female ship-master,' exclaimed Mr. Vanderholt. 'The Wife's Hope! It should be the Husband's Despair.'
Miss Violet was gazing at the receding shape of the Mowbray. The schooner lightly leaned with the swell, darting glances of flame as she swayed. Tender, blue fingers of shadow, like an outstretched hand in front of the sun, overran her sails, and the swing of her canvas was a miracle of milk-white light and violet shade against the hot liquid blue of the afternoon sky.