Mr. Vyner became thoughtful. The captain’s reticence, coupled with the fact that he had made two or three attempts to get rid of him that afternoon, was suspicious. He wondered whether Joan Hartley was the expected guest; the captain’s unwillingness to talk whenever her name came up having by no means escaped him. And once or twice the captain had, with unmistakable meaning, dropped hints as to the progress made by Mr. Saunders in horticulture and other pursuits. At the idea of this elderly mariner indulging in matrimonial schemes with which he had no sympathy, he became possessed with a spirit of vindictive emulation. “It seems like a riddle; you’ve excited my curiosity,” he said, as he threw himself back in the chair again and looked at the gulls wheeling lazily overhead. “Let me see whether I can guess—I’ll go as soon as I have.” “’Tisn’t worth guessing,” said Captain Trimblett, with a touch of brusqueness. “Don’t make it too easy,” pleaded Mr. Vyner. “Guess number one: a lady?” The captain grunted. “A widow,” continued Mr. Vyner, in the slow, rapt tones of a clairvoyant. “The widow!” “What do you mean by _the_ widow?” demanded the aroused captain. “The one you are always talking about,” replied Mr. Vyner, winking at the sky. “Me!” said the captain, purpling. “I don’t talk about her. You don’t hear me talk about her. I’m not always talking about anybody. I might just have mentioned her name when talking about Truefitt’s troubles; that’s all.” “That’s what I meant,” said Robert Vyner, with an air of mild surprise. “Well, it’s not her,” said the captain, shortly. “Somebody I know, but not exactly,” mused Robert. “Somebody I know, but—Let me think.” He closed his eyes in an effort of memory, and kept them shut so long that the captain, anxious to get him away before his visitor’s arrival, indulged in a loud and painful fit of coughing. Mr. Vyner’s eyes remained closed. “Any more guesses?” inquired the captain, loudly. Mr. Vyner slept on. Gulls mewed overhead; a rattle of cranes sounded from the quays, and a conversation—mostly in hoarse roars—took place between the boatswain in the bows and an elderly man ashore, but he remained undisturbed. Then he sprang up so suddenly that he nearly knocked his chair over, and the captain, turning his head after him in amaze, saw Joan Hartley standing at the edge of the quay. Before he could interfere Mr. Vyner, holding her hand with anxious solicitude, was helping her aboard. Poised for a moment on the side of the ship, she sprang lightly to the deck, and the young man, relinquishing her hand with some reluctance, followed her slowly toward the captain.