“Oh! I saw him associating with you, and I thought he was a boy, too. Pardon me!” Lottie turned from giving Boyne his coup-de-grace, to plant a little stab in Ellen’s breast. “To be sure, now Mr. Breckon has found those friends of his, I suppose he won’t want to flirt with Ellen any more.”
“Ah, ha, ha!” Boyne broke in. “Lottie is mad because he stopped to speak to some ladies he knew. Women, I suppose she’d call them.”
“Well, I shouldn’t call him a gentleman, anyway,” said Lottie.
The pretty, smooth-faced, fresh-faced young fellow whom their varying debate had kept in abeyance, looked round at them over his shoulder as he leaned on the rail, and seemed to discover Boyne for the first time. He came promptly towards the Kentons.
“Now,” said Lottie, rapidly, “you’ll just HAVE to.”
The young fellow touched his cap to the whole group, but he ventured to address only Boyne.
“Every one seems to be about this morning,” he said, with the cheery English-rising infection.
“Yes,” answered Boyne, with such snubbing coldness that Ellen’s heart was touched.
“It’s so pleasant,” she said, “after that dark weather.”
“Isn’t it?” cried the young fellow, gratefully. “One doesn’t often get such sunshine as this at sea, you know.”