Mr. Wilks almost fell off the edge of the chair in his haste to disclaim any such knowledge. His ideas were in a ferment, and the guilty knowledge of what he had left in the kitchen added to his confusion. And just at that moment the door opened and Miss Nugent came briskly in. Her surprise at seeing her father ensconced in a chair by the fire led to a rapid volley of questions. The captain, in lieu of answering them, asked another. “What do you want here?” “I have come to see Sam,” said Miss Nugent. “Fancy seeing you here! How are you, Sam?” “Pretty well, miss, thank’ee,” replied Mr. Wilks, “considering,” he added, truthfully, after a moment’s reflection. Miss Nugent dropped into a chair and put her feet on the fender. Her father eyed her restlessly. “I came here to speak to Sam about a private matter,” he said, abruptly. “Private matter,” said his daughter, looking round in surprise. “What about?” “A private matter,” repeated Captain Nugent. “Suppose you come in some other time.” Kate Nugent sighed and took her feet from the fender. “I’ll go and wait in the kitchen,” she said, crossing to the door. Both men protested. The captain because it ill-assorted with his dignity for his daughter to sit in the kitchen, and Mr. Wilks because of the visitor already there. The face of the steward, indeed, took on such extraordinary expressions in his endeavour to convey private information to the girl that she gazed at him in silent amazement. Then she turned the handle of the door and, passing through, closed it with a bang which was final. Mr. Wilks stood spellbound, but nothing happened. There was no cry of surprise; no hasty reappearance of an indignant Kate Nugent. His features working nervously he resumed his seat and gazed dutifully at his superior officer. “I suppose you’ve heard that my son is going to get married?” said the latter. “I couldn’t help hearing of it, sir,” said the steward in self defence—“nobody could.” “He’s going to marry that yellow-headed Jezebel of Kybird’s,” said the captain, staring at the fire. Mr. Wilks murmured that he couldn’t understand anybody liking yellow hair, and, more than that, the general opinion of the ladies in Fullalove Alley was that it was dyed. “I’m going to ship him on the _Seabird_,” continued the captain. “She’ll probably be away for a year or two, and, in the meantime, this girl will probably marry somebody else. Especially if she doesn’t know what has become of him. He can’t get into mischief aboard ship.” “No, sir,” said the wondering Mr. Wilks. “Is Master Jack agreeable to going, sir?” “That’s nothing to do with it,” said the captain, sharply. “No, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, “o’ course not. I was only a sort o’ wondering how he was going to be persuaded to go if ’e ain’t.” “That’s what I came here about,” said the other. “I want you to go and fix it up with Nathan Smith.” “Do you want ’im to be crimped, sir?” stammered Mr. Wilks.