“Got anything to do this evening?” she inquired. “No,” said the other. “Well, I have,” said Rosa, with a bright smile, “so I’ll say good-evening.” Mr. Walters rose and, replacing a box of matches in his pocket, stood watching her with his mouth open. “Don’t hurry,” she said, at last. The boatswain sat down again. “I mean when you get outside,” explained the girl. Mr. Walters gazed at her in slow perplexity, and then, breathing heavily, walked out of the kitchen like a man in a dream. His suspicions were aroused, and with an idea that a little blood-letting would give him relief, he wasted the entire evening lying in wait for a good-looking, gentlemanly young man with curly hair. Miss Jelks waited for his appearance the following evening in vain. Several evenings passed, but no boatswain, and it became apparent at last that he had realized the perils of his position. Anger at his defection was mingled with admiration for his strength of mind every time she looked in the glass. She forged her weapons slowly. A new hat was ready, but a skirt and coat still languished at the dressmaker’s. She waited until they came home, and then, dressing her hair in a style which owed something to a fashion-paper and something to her lack of skill, sallied out to put matters on a more satisfactory footing. It was early evening, and the street fairly full, but for some time she wandered about aimlessly. Twice she smiled at young men of her acquaintance, and they smiled back and went on their way. The third she met with a smile so inviting that against his better sense he stopped, and after a nervous glance round made a remark about the weather. “Beautiful,” said Rosa. “Have you been ill, Mr. Filer?” “Ill?” said the young man, staring. “No. Why?” “Haven’t seen you for such a long time,” said Miss Jelks, swinging her parasol. “I’ve been wondering what had become of you. I was afraid you were ill.” Mr. Filer caressed his moustache. “I haven’t seen you about,” he retorted. “I haven’t been out lately,” said the girl; “it’s so lonely walking about by yourself that I’d sooner sit indoors and mope.” Mr. Filer stood blinking thoughtfully. “I s’pose you’re going to meet a friend?” he said, at last. “No,” said Rosa. “I s’pose you are?” Mr. Filer said “No” in his turn. Two minutes later, in a state of mind pretty evenly divided between trepidation and joy, he found himself walking by her side. They chose at first the quietest streets, but under Miss Jelks’s guidance drifted slowly back to the town. To her annoyance the boatswain was nowhere to be seen, and the idea of wasting the evening in the society of Mr. Filer annoyed her beyond measure. She became moody, and vague in her replies to his sallies, and finally, with the forlorn hope that Mr. Walters might be spending the evening aboard ship, strolled on to the quay. Work was over and they had the place to themselves.