“I think you have been letting that young man keep you all to himself up in a corner quite long enough,” retorted he, “and you may as well show him you can do without him;” with which he left her to her meditations.

“How disagreeable good advice is!” thought the girl.  “Dear old thing!  But it is so dull at sea—­one must do something.  I do wish though Mr. Dutton wouldn’t try to spoon—­he was awfully nice before he thought of it.”

Of course these two drew together again next day, and, though Bluebell still evaded with Madonna eyes all approach to love-making, the lieutenant accepted the situation, and contented himself with flirting sous le nom d’amitie.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ROUGH WEATHER.

  I would be a mermaid fair,
  I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
  With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair,
  And still as I comb’d, I would sing and say,
  “Who is it loves me? who loves not me?”
                                   —­Tennyson.

One day there was a gale.  It came up suddenly, and some ladies sitting on a bench were swept off by a roll and sudden lurch.  The deck was soon cleared of the feminine element, with the exception of Bluebell, who enjoyed an immunity from malheur de mer, and knew she would not be much better off in her cabin, where Mrs. Oliphant had gradually ousted her from everything but sleeping accommodation.

A huge roller had hurled itself over the steerage, and broken a man’s arm; but the part of the vessel she was on kept pretty dry.  Stormy petrels were hovering in flocks; the ship, plunging head foremost into deep troughs, seemed as if it must break its back or be swallowed up, but always borne on the crest of a wave only to repeat the header next minute.

Bluebell was lying (for no other position could be preserved) on some rigs by the wheel, and holding on by a rope to prevent sliding about.  She felt excited by the grandeur of the situation, and, in the pauses of the wind, sang low some wild German Volkslied.

“Are you a Lorelei?” asked Mr. Dutton, who was never far off.  “What do you intend to do with the steamer?”

“I don’t mean any harm to the ship, but I shan’t lull the winds yet.  How delightful and magnificent it is!”

“If you really don’t mean to engulf us, and won’t comb your golden hair, pray go on singing.  I’ll risk it.”

Bluebell nodded, and gave full play to her magnificent voice in the wildest Lieder she could remember.  The man at the wheel, if he had ever heard of a Lorelei, might have been excused for mistaking her for one.  A lady to sit and sing in such a gale was not an every-day experience.  Her bright hair was only covered by the hood of a deep-blue cloak, from which her large eyes seemed to have caught a reflection, so dark were the pupils dilated with enthusiasm.

“You might be a corsair’s bride,” said Mr. Dutton, admiringly, “you are so indifferent to discomfort and danger.  I can’t fancy you shut up in a poky school-room, taking regular walks, and teaching Dr. Watts to tiresome children.”