He knew, as all men know under such conditions, that the small, sweet girl loved him as the little kitten loved him, just because he was big, and strong, and protective. And while he could not, under the circumstances, manifest his response to the girl, he took it out of the kitten when off duty; he would grab the little thing, bring it up to his lips, kiss it, and fondle it, and hug it--all of which brought response from the cat in the shape of scratch marks on Bill's face; for cats are not psychologists; they know nothing of the workings of the male human mind. But still the cat was fond of Bill, as manifested by purrings and kittenish advances, and Bill was no less fond of the cat, in spite of the scratches on his face. He gave the small creature the caresses that he would have given the girl that he loved, had he have been allowed to. Yet there came a moment when he was perilously near to being allowed to. She joined him on the bridge, when his first mate was asleep, the guests aft in deck chairs, and the father and owner below in his room; she had brought her fancywork--mysterious to Bill, for he saw nothing but scissors, needles, and an expanse of white cloth, all of which he knew nothing about. There was a half gale of wind blowing; the awning was furled, the weather cloths stretched along the bridge railing, and the deck chairs of the guests placed in snug positions under the lee of the houses; there was a lively sea rolling, which prevented any great activity of mind or body in the guests, and no one seemed to care that the owner's daughter came to the bridge. Bill brought her a chair from his room, and incidentally aroused the kitten from sleep; the kitten purred, and, receiving only one pat and stroke, followed her big master to the door of the room. There she stood, looking out on the stormy sea, and, no doubt, jealous of the other kittenish creature in the mackintosh, whom Bill was seating in the chair.