‘Oh well, you know, Dugdale, she has met some of my people. I don’t dislike her for holding off. It shows that her blood and instincts are English; though, faith, when I first saw her I took her to be a Spaniard. Between you and me, though, the golden headed girl’s the belle of the ship. What’s her name?--Ah! Miss Hudson. Look at her as she sits in the light down there! Why, now, if I had your poetical turn, how would I spout whole yards about her fingers like snowflakes, and her lips like---- But see here! there’s nothing new in the shape of imagery to apply to a pretty woman. Oh yes! Miss Hudson’s the ship’s beauty. But Miss Temple is ripping company, and, my stars! what eyes!’ ‘Take care,’ said I, laughing, ‘that you don’t do what the man who marries the deceased wife’s sister always does--wed the wrong one. Choose correctly at the start.’ He burst into a laugh. ‘I am already engaged to be married,’ said he. ‘What single man of judgment would dare adventure a voyage to Bombay without securing himself in that fashion against all risks?’ I stared into his grinning face, as we stood at the skylight, to discover if he was in earnest. ‘Keep your secret, Colledge,’ said I; ‘I’ll not peach.’ Here the second-mate interrupted us by singing out an order to the watch to haul down the fore and main topgallant studdingsails. Then he took in his lower and main topmast studdingsails. The men’s noisy bawling made talking difficult, and Colledge went below for a glass of brandy-and-water. Presently old Keeling came on deck, and after a look around, and a pretty long stare over the weather bow, where there was a very faint show of lightning, he said something to the second mate and returned to the cuddy. ‘In foretopmast studdingsail!’ bawled Mr. Cocker; ‘clew up the mizzen-royal and furl it.’ A little group of midshipmen hovering in the dusk in the lee of the break of the poop, where the shadow of the great mainsail lay like the darkness of a thunderstorm upon the air, rushed to the mizzen rigging, and in a few moments the gossamer-like cloud floating under the mizzen-royal truck was melting out like a streak of vapour against the stars, with a couple of the young lads making the shrouds dance as they clawed their way up the ratlines. ‘What’s wrong with the weather, Mr. Cocker,’ said I, ‘that you are denuding the ship in this fashion?’ ‘Oh,’ said he with a short laugh, ‘Captain Keeling is a very cautious commander, sir. He’ll never show a stun’sail to the night outside the tropics; and it is a regular business with us to furl the fore and mizzen royal in the second dog-watch, though it is so fine to-night, he has let them fly longer than usual.’ ‘Humph!’ said I; ‘no wonder he’s popular with lady passengers. I suppose there is no chance of the ship falling overboard with the main-royal still on her?’