“Yet that Japanese has just gone below!” remonstrated Mlle. Nadiboff.

“The Japanese,” replied the young captain, “is our cook and steward, and belongs below.”

A light glowed swiftly in Mlle. Nadiboff’s eyes, but disappeared almost instantly.

The handsome young woman opened her mouth as though to speak, then compressed her lips tightly.

CHAPTER V

EPH LEARNS SOMETHING NEW

“You are not as gallant as you were last night,” murmured Mlle. Sara, in a low tone.

“Last night I was ashore, on social pleasures bent,” replied Jack.  “To-day, I am on duty, and duty must go ahead of everything else.”

“And I am hungry,” continued the young woman, pathetically.  “In my eagerness to see that boat that you command, my Captain, I came away from the shore before going through the ceremony of breakfast.  Do you mean to say, Captain Benson, that you cannot conduct me to your cabin, there to have that—­your Japanese—­serve me with at least a sandwich?”

“Mademoiselle,” cried Jack, apologetically, “you can’t have the faintest idea how sorry I am that my instructions are what they are I feel wicked as I look at your distress, but it is simply wholly impossible for me to ask you below.  I can have food served to you on deck, however.”

“What?  Eat here before the eyes of all Spruce Beach?  And have it made perfectly plain to every onlooker that I am not welcome here?” cried the woman spy, reproachfully.

“Oh, but, indeed, you are welcome here,” protested Jack.  “As welcome as I am permitted to make anyone.  My orders, you know—­I am a slave to those orders.”

“Yet there is some one aboard,” urged Mlle. Nadiboff, in her most pleading voice, while there was an almost tearful look in her pretty eyes, “some one who can change the orders.  Your Mr. Farnum, I take it.  Go to him, won’t you, and plead with him for me?  Go!”

One of her little, gloved hands rested on his arm, pushing gently.

But Jack Benson, though she made him feel inwardly at odds with himself, thought more of his duty than of anything else.

“I am very sorry—­awfully sorry, Mlle. Nadiboff.  But won’t you understand that what you ask is wholly impossible?”

“Good-bye, then!” she said, resentfully, though gently, half turning from him.

“You’ll shake hands, won’t you?” asked Jack, holding out his own right hand.

“Perhaps, after I have talked with you on shore—­when we meet again,” she replied, a bit distantly.  Then she turned to Williamson as her boat came in close alongside.  “Your hand, please.  I am afraid I may slip.”

Williamson helped that most attractive young woman down over the side, lifting his cap after he had seen her safe aboard the rowboat.  As the harbor craft veered off, Captain Jack Benson lifted his cap with all courtesy.  Mlle. Sara Nadiboff bowed to him rather coldly.