“Shut the skylight, Jack,” said the skipper, at length, as he poured out his third cup of coffee. Fraser complied, and resuming his seat gazed at him with almost indecent expectancy. The skipper dropped some sugar into his coffee, and stirring it in a meditative fashion, sighed gently. “I’ve been making a fool of myself, Jack,” he said, at length. “I was always one to be fond of a little bit of adventure, but this goes a little too far, even for me.” “But what did you get engaged to her for?” enquired Fraser. Flower shook his head. “She fell violently in love with me,” he said, mournfully. “She keeps the Blue Posts up at Chelsea. Her father left it to her. She manages her step-mother and her brother and everybody else. I was just a child in her hands. You know my easy-going nature.” “But you made love to her,” expostulated the mate. “In a way, I suppose I did,” admitted the other. “I don’t know now whether she could have me up for breach of promise, because when I asked her I did it this way. I said, ‘Will you be Mrs. Robinson?’ What do you think?” “I should think it would make it harder for you,” said Fraser. “But didn’t you remember Miss Banks while all this was going on?” “In a way,” said Flower, “yes—in a way. But after a man’s been engaged to a woman nine years, it’s very easy to forget, and every year makes it easier. Besides, I was only a boy when I was engaged to her.” “Twenty-eight,” said Fraser. “Anyway, I wasn’t old enough to know my own mind,” said Flower, “and my uncle and old Mrs. Banks made it up between them. They arranged everything, and I can’t afford to offend the old man. If I married Miss Tipping—that’s the Blue Posts girl—he’d leave his money away from me; and if I marry Elizabeth, Miss Tipping’ll have me up for breach of promise—if she finds me.” “If you’re not very careful,” said Fraser, impressively, “you’ll lose both of ’em.” The skipper leaned over the table, and glanced carefully round. “Just what I want to do,” he said, in a low voice. “I’m engaged to another girl.” “What?” cried the mate, raising his voice. “_Three?_” “Three,” repeated the skipper. “Only three,” he added, hastily, as he saw a question trembling on the other’s lips. “I’m ashamed of you,” said the latter, severely; “you ought to know better.” “I don’t want any of your preaching, Jack,” said the skipper, briskly; “and, what’s more, I won’t have it. I deserve more pity than blame.” “You’ll want all you can get,” said Fraser, ominously. “And does the other girl know of any of the others?” “Of either of the others—no,” corrected Flower. “Of course, none of them know. You don’t think I’m a fool, do you?” “Who is number three?” enquired the mate suddenly. “Poppy Tyrell,” replied the other. “Oh,” said Fraser, trying to speak unconcernedly; “the girl who came here last evening.”