His voice was so deliberate, and his manner so significant, that Miss Hartley looked up in surprise. Then she coloured furiously as she saw both gentlemen eying her with the air of physicians on the lookout for unfavourable symptoms. Anger only deepened her colour, and an unladylike and unfilial yearning to bang their two foolish heads together possessed her. Explanations were impossible, and despite her annoyance she almost smiled as she saw the concern in the eye the captain turned on her father. “Saying so only yesterday,” repeated the former, “to Mr. Robert.” “I saw him this afternoon,” said Joan, with forced composure. “I went up to father’s room and found _him_ there. Why didn’t you tell me you had given up your room, father?” Mr. Hartley pleaded in excuse that he thought he had told her, and was surprised at the vehemence of her denial. With a slightly offended air he pointed out that it was a very small matter after all. “There is nothing to be annoyed about,” he said. “You went there to see me, and, not finding me there, came down again.” “Ye-es,” said Joan, thoughtfully. “Just put her head in at the door and fled,” explained the captain, still watching her closely. Miss Hartley appeared not to have heard him. “Came down three stairs at a time,” he continued, with a poor attempt at a chuckle. “I was there about half an hour waiting for father,” said Joan, eying him very steadily. “I thought that he was in the other office. Is there anything else I can tell you?” The captain collapsed suddenly, and, turning a red face upon Hartley, appealed to him mutely for succour. “Me?” he spluttered, feebly. “I—I don’t want to know anything. Your father thought—” “I didn’t think anything,” said Hartley, with some haste. The captain eyed him reproachfully. “I thought your father thought—” he began, and, drawing out a large handkerchief, blew his nose violently. “Yes?” said Joan, still very erect. “That is all,” said the captain, with an air of dignity. He brushed some imaginary atoms from his beard, and, finding the girl’s gaze still somewhat embarrassing, sought to relieve the tension. “I’ve known you since you were five,” he said, with inconsequent pathos. “I know,” said Joan, smiling, and putting her hand on his broad shoulder. “You’re a dear old stupid; that is all.” “Always was,” said the relieved captain, “from a child.” He began, with a cheerful countenance, to narrate anecdotes of his stupidity until, being interrupted by Hartley with one or two choice examples that he had forgotten, he rose and muttered something about seeing the garden. His progress was stayed by a knock at the front door and an intimation from Rosa that he was wanted. “My bo’sun,” he said, reentering the room with a letter. “Excuse me.” He broke the seal, and turned to Hartley with a short laugh. “Peter Truefitt,” he said, “wants me to meet him at nine o’clock and go home together, pretending that he has been here with me. Peter is improving.”