“Did he tell the cook and the cabin boy too?” inquired Miss Alsen, flushing somewhat. “What did he tell you?” “Told me about a man named Towson,” said the mate, becoming intent on the sails, “and—another fellow.” “I took a little notice of _him_ just to spoil the other,” said the girl, “not that I cared for him. I can’t understand a girl caring for any man. Great, clumsy, ugly things.” “You don’t like him then?” said the mate. “Of course not,” said the girl, tossing her head. “And yet they’ve sent you to sea to get out of his way,” said the mate meditatively. “Well, the best thing you can do”—His hardihood failed him at the pitch. “Go on,” said the girl. “Well, it’s this way,” said the mate, coughing; “they’ve sent you to sea to get you out of this fellow’s way, so if you fall in love with somebody on the ship they’ll send you home again.” “So they will,” said the girl eagerly. “I’ll pretend to fall in love with that nice-looking sailor you call Harry. What a lark!” “I shouldn’t do that,” said the mate gravely. “Why not?” said the girl. “’Tisn’t discipline,” said the mate very firmly; “it wouldn’t do at all. He’s before the mast.” “Oh, I see,” remarked Miss Alsen, smiling scornfully. “I only mean pretend, of course,” said the mate, colouring. “Just to oblige you.” “Of course,” said the girl calmly. “Well, how are we to be in love?” The mate flushed darkly. “I don’t know much about such things,” he said at length; “but we’ll have to look at each other, and all that sort of thing, you know.” “I don’t mind that,” said the girl. “Then we’ll get on by degrees,” said the other. “I expect we shall both find it come easier after a time.” “Anything to get home again,” said the girl, rising and walking slowly away. The mate began his part of the love-making at once, and, fixing a gaze of concentrated love on the object of his regard, nearly ran down a smack. As he had prognosticated, it came easy to him, and other well-marked symptoms, such as loss of appetite and a partiality for bright colours, developed during the day. Between breakfast and tea he washed five times, and raised the ire of the skipper to a dangerous pitch by using the ship’s butter to remove tar from his fingers. By ten o’clock that night he was far advanced in a profound melancholy. All the looking had been on his side, and, as he stood at the wheel keeping the schooner to her course, he felt a fellow-feeling for the hapless Towson. His meditations were interrupted by a slight figure which emerged from the companion, and, after a moment’s hesitation, came and took its old seat on the skylight. “Calm and peaceful up here, isn’t it?” said he, after waiting some time for her to speak. “Stars are very bright to-night.” “Don’t talk to me,” said Miss Alsen snappishly. “Why doesn’t this nasty little ship keep still? I believe it’s you making her jump about like this.” “Me?” said the mate in amazement. “Yes, with that wheel.” “I can assure you “—began the mate.