“You’re looking very cheerful,” she remarked.

The captain’s face fell several points.  “Am I?” he said, ruefully.  “I didn’t mean to.”

“Why not?” inquired his niece.

“I mean I didn’t know I was,” he replied, “more than usual, I mean.  I always do look fairly cheerful—­at least, I hope I do.  There’s nothing to make me look the opposite.”

Miss Drewitt eyed him carefully and then passed upstairs to put on her hat.  Relieved of her presence the captain walked to the small glass over the mantelpiece and, regarding his tell-tale features with gloomy dissatisfaction, acquired, after one or two attempts, an expression which he flattered himself defied analysis.

He tapped the barometer which hung by the door as they went out, and, checking a remark which rose to his lips, stole a satisfied glance at the face by his side.

“Clark’s farm by the footpaths would be a nice walk,” said Miss Drewitt, as they reached the end of the lane.

The captain started.  “I was thinking of Dutton Priors,” he said, slowly.  “We could go there by Hanger’s Lane and home by the road.”

“The footpaths would be nice to-day,” urged his niece.

“You try my way,” said the captain, jovially.

“Have you got any particular reason for wanting to go to Dutton Priors this afternoon?” inquired the girl.

“Reason?” said the captain.  “Good gracious, no.  What reason should I have?  My leg is a trifle stiff to-day for stiles, but still—­”

Miss Drewitt gave way at once, and, taking his arm, begged him to lean on her, questioning him anxiously as to his fitness for a walk in any direction.

“Walking’ll do it good,” was the reply, as they proceeded slowly down the High Street.

He took his watch from his pocket, and, after comparing it with the town clock, peered furtively right and left, gradually slackening his pace until Miss Drewitt’s fears for his leg became almost contagious.  At the old stone bridge, spanning the river at the bottom of the High Street, he paused, and, resting his arms on the parapet, became intent on a derelict punt.  On the subject of sitting in a craft of that description in mid-stream catching fish he discoursed at such length that the girl eyed him in amazement.

[Illustration:  “He became intent on a derelict punt.”]

“Shall we go on?” she said, at length.

The captain turned and, merely pausing to point out the difference between the lines of a punt and a dinghy, with a digression to sampans which included a criticism of the Chinese as boat-builders, prepared to depart.  He cast a swift glance up the road as he did so, and Miss Drewitt’s cheek flamed with sudden wrath as she saw Mr. Edward Tredgold hastening towards them.  In a somewhat pointed manner she called her uncle’s attention to the fact.

“Lor’ bless my soul,” said that startled mariner, “so it is.  Well! well!”