The mother hesitated; then she rose, and accepting the mate’s assistance, clambered on to the side of the steamer, and, supported by his arms, sprang to the deck and followed him below. “Very nice,” she said, nodding approvingly, as the mate did the honours. “Very nice.” “It’s nice and roomy for a little craft like ours,” said the mate, as he drew a stone bottle from a locker and poured out a couple of glasses of stout. “Try a little beer, ma’am.” “What you must think o’ that girl o’ mine I can’t think,” murmured the lady, taking a modest draught. “The young,” said the mate, who had not quite reached his twenty-fifth year, “are often like that.” “It spoils her,” said her mother. “She’s a good-looking girl, too, in her way.” “I don’t see how she can help being that,” said the mate. “Oh, get away with you,” said the lady pleasantly. “She’ll get fat like me as she gets older.” “She couldn’t do better,” said the mate tenderly. “Nonsense,” said the lady, smiling. “You’re as like as two peas,” persisted the mate. “I made sure you were sisters when I saw you first.” “You ain’t the first that’s thought that,” said the other, laughing softly; “not by a lot.” “I like to see ladies about,” said the mate, who was trying desperately for a return invitation. “I wish you could always sit there. You quite brighten the cabin up.” “You’re a flatterer,” said his visitor, as he replenished her glass, and showed so little signs of making a move that the mate, making a pretext of seeing the engineer, hurried up on deck to singe his wings once more. “Still reading?” he said softly, as he came abreast of the girl. “All about love, I s’pose.” “Have you left my mother down there all by herself?” inquired the girl abruptly. “Just a minute,” said the mate, somewhat crestfallen. “I just came up to see the engineer.” “Well, he isn’t here,” was the discouraging reply. The mate waited a minute or two, the girl still reading quietly, and then walked back to the cabin. The sound of gentle regular breathing reached his ears, and, stepping softly, he saw to his joy that his visitor slept. “She’s asleep,” said he, going back, “and she looks so comfortable I don’t think I’ll wake her.” “I shouldn’t advise you to,” said the girl; “she always wakes up cross.” “How strange we should run up against each other like this,” said the mate sentimentally; “it looks like Providence, doesn’t it?” “Looks like carelessness,” said the girl. “I don’t care,” replied the mate. “I’m glad I did let that line go overboard. Best day’s work I ever did. I shouldn’t have seen you if I hadn’t.” “And I don’t suppose you’ll ever see me again,” said the girl comfortably, “so I don’t see what good you’ve done yourself.” “I shall run down to Limehouse every time we’re in port, anyway,” said the mate; “it’ll be odd if I don’t see you sometimes. I daresay our craft’ll pass each other sometimes. Perhaps in the night,” he added gloomily.