“That is the only thing that worries me,” he rejoined promptly.

“You need not mind, sir.  I really am not sorry.  I could not have stood it much longer.  And Mr. Sellers paid yesterday.”

“So they don’t owe you much on account, then,” Tunis said soberly.  “I came away without paying for my dinner.  I’ll pay the worth of my check to you; that’ll help some.”

For the first time she laughed.  Once he had sat all afternoon in a gully back of Big Wreck Cove in the pine woods and listened to the cheerful gurgle of a spring bubbling from under a stone.  That silvery chuckle was repeated in this girl’s laugh With all her timidity and shyness, she was naturally a cheerful body.  That laugh was quite involuntary.

“I think I may be able to get along,” she said, with that quiet tone of finality which Tunis felt would keep the boldest man at a distance.  “It is difficult, however, to get a position without references.”

“I’ll go back and wring one out of him—­when the cop has gone,” grinned Tunis.

“I don’t think a reference from Mr. Sellers would do me much good,” she sighed.  “But at the time I took the place I was quite desperate.”

The captain of the Seamew made no comment.  They were walking up the hill through a quiet street.  Of course, there was no pursuit.  But the young man began to feel that he might have done the girl more harm than good by espousing her cause in the restaurant.  Perhaps he had been too impulsive.

“You—­you can find other and more pleasant work, I am sure,” he said with hesitation.  “I hope you will forgive me for thrusting myself into your concerns, but I really could not stand for that man backing up your customer instead of you.  He did order meringue pie.  I heard him.”

She smiled, and he caught the faint flicker of it as it curved her lips and made her eyes shine for an instant.  Minute following minute, she was becoming more attractive.  His voice trembled when he spoke again: 

“I—­I hope you will forgive me.”

“You did just what I should have expected my brother to do, if I had a brother,” she replied frankly.  “But few girls who work at Sellers’ have brothers.”

“No?” Something in her voice, rather than in the words, startled Tunis.

“Let me put it differently,” she said, still with that gentle cadence which ameliorated the bitterness of her tone.  “Girls who have brothers seldom fall into Sellers’ clutches.  You see, he is a last resort.  He does not demand references, and he poses as a philanthropist.”

Tunis felt confused, in a maze.  He could not imagine where the girl was tacking.  He was keenly aware, however, that there was a mystery about her being employed at all in Sellers’ restaurant.

They came out at last upon the brow of the hill overlooking the Common.  The lamps glimmered along Tremont Street through an opalescent haze which was stealing over the city from the bay.  Without question they went down the steps side by side.  There was a bench in a shadow and, without touching her, Tunis steered the girl’s steps toward it.