That night at dinner the captain followed Mrs. Weston’s advice and took soundings.  Nothing was lost upon him, from Bobby’s late arrival in a somewhat sophisticated white evening gown that she had hitherto scorned, to the new and becoming way in which her hair was arranged.  It did not require a Nelson eye to discover a suppressed excitement under her high spirits or to detect the side-play that was taking place between her and the apparently stolid Englishman at her right.

Captain Boynton looked at Mrs. Weston and raised one eyebrow; she nodded comprehendingly.  Later in the evening, when he dropped into a steamer-chair beside her, he asked if she had seen Bobby.

“Not since dinner.  All the young people have been asking for her.  Did you look in the writing-room ?”

“I’ve looked everywhere except in the coal-bunkers,” said the captain, gruffly.  “Talk to me about responsibility.  I’d rather run a schooner up the Hoogli than to steer that girl of mine.”

“You’ve wakened to your duty rather late, haven’t you!” asked Mrs. Weston.  “I suppose it’s the Englishman who is making you anxious?”

The captain dropped his voice.

“Did you see the way she looked at him at dinner?  By George! it was enough to melt the leg off an iron pot!”

“It’s been coming for a week,” said Mrs. Weston, wisely.  “If you really oppose it, there is no time to be lost.”

“Oppose it?  Of course I oppose it.  What’s to be done?”

“The situation requires delicate handling.  Would you like me to try and help you out—­share the responsibility of chaperoning her, I mean?”

“Permanently?” asked the captain, shooting a quizzical glance at her from under his heavy brows.

“You wretch!” said Mrs. Weston, flushing.  “Just to Hong-Kong, I mean.”

That night about ten o’clock the captain, who happened to be crossing the steerage deck, came quite unexpectedly upon Percival and Bobby groping their way through the dark.

[Illustration:  “Roberta!” he called sternly.  “What are you doing out here?”]

“Roberta,” he called sternly, “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh,” cried Bobby, breathlessly, feeling her way around the hatch, “we’ve been out on the prow for hours, and it was simply gorgeous.  All inky black except the phosphorescence, miles and miles of it!  And some dolphins, all covered with silver, kept racing with us and leaping clear out of the water, like wriggly bits of fire.  And the stars—­why, Mr. Hascombe’s been telling me the most fascinating things I ever heard about stars.  We’ve had a perfectly wonderful time, haven’t we, Mr. Hascombe?”

“Topping!” said the Honorable Percival.

VIII

IN THE CROW’S-NEST

The sea-voyage of thirty days, which in the beginning had threatened to stretch into eternity, now seemed to be racing into the past with a swiftness that was incredible.  To Percival the one desirable thing in life had come to be the sailing of the high seas under favoring winds, in a big ship, with Bobby Boynton on board, and a conscience that had agreed to remain quiescent until port was reached.