“Those of us who live longest’ll see the most,” said Mrs. Tipping, calmly. An hour or two passed, the mate sitting smoking with a philosophy which he hoped the waiting mariner at the “Admiral Cochrane” would be able to imitate. He lit the lamp at last, and going on deck, ordered the cook to prepare supper. Mother and daughter, with feelings of gratitude, against which they fought strongly, noticed that the table was laid for three, and a little later, in a somewhat awkward fashion, they all sat down to the meal together. “Very good beef,” said Mrs. Tipping, politely. “Very nice,” said her daughter, who was exchanging glances with the mate. “I suppose you’re very comfortable here, Mr. Fraser?” The mate sighed. “It’s all right when the old man’s away,” he said, deceitfully. “He’s got a dreadful temper.” “I hope you didn’t get into trouble through _my_ coming aboard the other night,” said Miss Tipping, softly. “Don’t say anything about it,” replied the mate, eyeing her admiringly. “I’d do more than that for you, if I could.” Miss Tipping, catching her mother’s eye, bestowed upon her a glance of complacent triumph. “You don’t mind us coming down here, do you?” she said, languishingly. “I wish you’d live here,” said the unscrupulous Fraser; “but of course I know you only come here to try and see that fellow Robinson,” he added, gloomily. “I like to see you, too,” was the reply. “I like you very much, as a friend.” The mate in a melancholy voice thanked her, and to the great annoyance of the cook, who had received strict orders from the forecastle to listen as much as he could, sat in silence while the table was cleared. “What do you say to a hand at cards?” he said, after the cook had finally left the cabin. “Three-handed cribbage,” said Mrs. Tipping, quickly; “it’s the only game worth playing.” No objection being raised, the masterful lady drew closer to the table, and concentrating energies of no mean order on the game, successfully played hands of unvarying goodness, aided by a method of pegging which might perhaps be best described as dot and carry one. “You haven’t seen anything of this Mr. Robinson since you were here last, I suppose?” said Fraser, noting with satisfaction that both ladies gave occasional uneasy glances at the clock. “No, an’ not likely to,” said Mrs. Tipping; “fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, and a pair’s eight.” “Where’s the fifteen six?” enquired Fraser, glancing over. “Eight and seven,” said the lady, pitching the cards with the others and beginning to shuffle for the next deal. “It’s very strange behaviour,” said the mate; “Robinson, I mean. Do you think he’s dead?” “No, I don’t,” said Mrs. Tipping, briefly. “Where’s that captain of yours?” Fraser, whose anxiety was becoming too much for his play, leaned over the table as though about to speak, and then, apparently thinking better of it, went on with the game.