“You’ll be all right,” said her father. “Spades.” He won for the third time that evening, and, feeling wonderfully well satisfied with the way in which he had played his cards generally, could not resist another gibe at the crestfallen mate. “You’ll have to give up playing cards and all that sort o’ thing when you’re married, Jack,” said he. “Ay, ay,” said the mate recklessly, “Kitty don’t like cards.” “I thought there was no Kitty,” said the girl, looking up, scornfully. “She don’t like cards,” repeated the mate. “Lord, what a spree we had, cap’n, when we went to the Crystal Palace with her that night.” “Ay, that we did,” said the skipper. “Remember the roundabouts?” said the mate. “I do,” said the skipper merrily. “I’ll never forget ’em.” “You and that friend of hers, Bessie Watson, lord how you did go on!” continued the mate, in a sort of ecstasy. The skipper stiffened suddenly in his chair. “What on earth are you talking about?” he inquired gruffly. “Bessie Watson,” said the mate, in tones of innocent surprise. “Little girl in a blue hat with white feathers, and a blue frock, that came with us.” “You’re drunk,” said the skipper, grinding his teeth, as he saw the trap into which he had walked. “Don’t you remember when you two got lost, an’ me and Kitty were looking all over the place for you?” demanded the mate, still in the same tones of pleasant reminiscence. He caught Hetty’s eye, and noticed with a thrill that it beamed with soft and respectful admiration. “You’ve been drinking,” repeated the skipper, breathing hard. “How dare you talk like that afore my daughter?” “It’s only right I should know,” said Hetty, drawing herself up. “I wonder what mother’ll say to it all?” “You say anything to your mother if you dare,” said the now maddened skipper. “You know what _she_ is. It’s all the mate’s nonsense.” “I’m very sorry, cap’n,” said the mate, “if I’ve said anything to annoy you, or anyway hurt your feelings. O’ course it’s your business, not mine. Perhaps you’ll say you never heard o’ Bessie Watson?” “Mother shall hear of her,” said Hetty, while her helpless sire was struggling for breath. “Perhaps you’ll tell us who this Bessie Watson is, and where she lives?” he said at length. “She lives with Kitty Loney,” said the mate simply. The skipper rose, and his demeanour was so alarming that Hetty shrank instinctively to the mate for protection. In full view of his captain, the mate placed his arm about her waist, and in this position they confronted each other for some time in silence. Then Hetty looked up and spoke. “I’m going home by water,” she said briefly. THE CAPTAIN’S EXPLOIT