Mr. Wilks shuffled his feet and strove to remind himself that he was a gentleman of independent means, and could please himself.

“I’ve known ’im since he was a baby,” he murmured, defiantly.

“I don’t want to hear anything more from you, Wilks,” said the captain, in a hard voice.  “Those are my orders, and you had better see that they are carried out.  My son will be one of the first to thank you later on for getting him out of such a mess.”

Mr. Wilks’s brow cleared somewhat.  “I s’pose Miss Kate ’ud be pleased too,” he remarked, hope-fully.

“Of course she will,” said the captain.  “Now I look to you, Wilks, to manage this thing properly.  I wouldn’t trust anybody else, and you’ve never disappointed me yet.”

The steward gasped and, doubting whether he had heard aright, looked towards his old master, but in vain, for the confirmation of further compliments.  In all his long years of service he had never been praised by him before.  He leaned forward eagerly and began to discuss ways and means.

In the next room conversation was also proceeding, but fitfully.  Miss Nugent’s consternation when she closed the door behind her and found herself face to face with Mr. Hardy was difficult of concealment.  Too late she understood the facial contortions of Mr. Wilks, and, resigning herself to the inevitable, accepted the chair placed for her by the highly pleased Jem, and sat regarding him calmly from the other side of the fender.

[Illustration:  “Miss Nugent’s consternation was difficult of concealment.”]

“I am waiting here for my father,” she said, in explanation.

“In deference to Wilks’s terrors I am waiting here until he has gone,” said Hardy, with a half smile.

There was a pause.  “I hope that he will not be long,” said the girl.

“Thank you,” returned Hardy, wilfully misunderstanding, “but I am in no hurry.”

He gazed at her with admiration.  The cold air had heightened her colour, and the brightness of her eyes shamed the solitary candle which lit up the array of burnished metal on the mantelpiece.

“I hope you enjoyed your visit to London,” he said.

Before replying Miss Nugent favoured him with a glance designed to express surprise at least at his knowledge of her movements.  “Very much, thank you,” she said, at last.

Mr. Hardy, still looking at her with much comfort to himself, felt an insane desire to tell her how much she had been missed by one person at least in Sunwich.  Saved from this suicidal folly by the little common sense which had survived the shock of her sudden appearance, he gave the information indirectly.

“Quite a long stay,” he murmured; “three months and three days; no, three months and two days.”

A sudden wave of colour swept over the girl’s face at the ingenuity of this mode of attack.  She was used to attention and took compliments as her due, but the significant audacity of this one baffled her.  She sat with downcast eyes looking at the fender occasionally glancing from the corner of her eye to see whether he was preparing to renew the assault.  He had certainly changed from the Jem Hardy of olden days.  She had a faint idea that his taste had improved.