“If you're tired, we'll sit down,” he said.
“What time is it?” she persisted.
“Must I look?” he pleaded. They went to a lantern, and he took out his watch and sprang the case open. “Look!” he said. “I sacrifice myself on the altar of truth.” They bent their heads low together over the watch; it was not easy to make out the time. “It's nine o'clock,” said Staniford.
“It can't be; it was half past when I came up,” answered Lydia.
“One hand's at twelve and the other at nine,” he said, conclusively.
“Oh, then it's a quarter to twelve.” She caught away her hand from his arm, and fled to the gangway. “I didn't dream it was so late.”
The pleasure which her confession brought to his face faded at sight of Hicks, who was turning the last pages of a novel by the cabin lamp, as he followed Lydia in. It was the book that Staniford had given her.
“Hullo!” said Hicks, with companionable ease, looking up at her. “Been having quite a tramp.”
She did not seem troubled by the familiarity of an address that incensed Staniford almost to the point of taking Hicks from his seat, and tossing him to the other end of the cabin. “Oh, you've finished my book,” she said. “You must tell me how you like it, to-morrow.”
“I doubt it,” said Hicks. “I'm going to be seasick to-morrow. The captain's been shaking his head over the barometer and powwowing with the first officer. Something's up, and I guess it's a gale. Good-by; I shan't see you again for a week or so.”