“In the first place,” said Fraser, “I wanted to tell you that, though nothing has been heard of Captain Flower, I feel certain in my own mind that he has not been drowned.” Miss Tyrell shook her head slowly. “Then I ought to tell you that I have left the _Foam_” continued the other. “I think that there is some idea that I knocked Flower overboard to get his place.” The girl turned quickly, and her face flushed. “How absurd,” she said, indignantly, and her manner softened. “Thank you,” said Fraser. “If you don’t believe it, I don’t care what anybody else thinks.” Miss Tyrell, looking straight in front of her, stole a glance at this easily satisfied young man from the corner of her eye. “I should never expect to hear of you doing anything wicked,” she said. Fraser thanked her again, warmly. “Or venturesome,” added Miss Tyrell, thoughtfully. “You’re not the kind.” They walked on in silence; indignant silence on the part of the ex-mate. “Then you are out of a berth?” said Poppy, not unkindly. Fraser shook his head and explained. “And I told my father about you,” he added, nervously. “He knew Flower very well, and he told me to say that he would be very pleased and proud if you would come down and stay with him at Bittlesea for a time.” “No, thank you,” said Miss Tyrell. “The air would do you good,” persisted Fraser; “you could come down by train or come down with me on the _Swallow_ next week.” Miss Tyrell repeated her refusal. “I must stay in London and get something else to do,” she said, quietly. “What do you think of doing?” enquired Fraser. “Anything I can get,” was the reply. “And in the meantime——” he began, nervously. “In the meantime I’m living on the Wheelers,” said the girl, pressing her lips together; “that was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” “I was not going to say anything of the kind,” said Fraser, warmly. “I was not thinking of it.” “Well, it’s true,” said Poppy, defiantly. “It isn’t true,” said Fraser, “because you will pay them back.” “Shall we turn back?” said the girl. Fraser turned and walked beside her, and, glancing furtively at the pale, proud face, wondered how to proceed. “I should be delighted if you would come to Bittlesea,” he said, earnestly, “and I’m sure if Flower should ever turn up again, he would say it was the best thing you could have done.” “Thank you, but I prefer to stay here,” was the reply, “and I don’t wish to be ungrateful, but I wish that people would not trouble me with their charity.” She walked on in silence, with her face averted, until they reached Liston Street, and, stopping at the door, turned to bid him good-bye. Her face softened as she shook hands, and in the depths of her dark eyes as they met his he fancied that he saw a little kindness. Then the door opened, and, before he could renew his invitation, closed behind her as rapidly as Mr. Bob Wheeler could perform the feat. CHAPTER XIV.