She walked on in pained silence and paid no heed to the explanations and arguments by which the captain sought to justify his refusal. He began to get confused and rambling in his defence, and finally, to terminate an embarrassing interview, grunted out something about thinking it over. A moment later a radiant and admiring young woman was flattering him up to the skies. “Mind, I only said I would think it over,” said the captain, regarding her indignantly. “Of course,” said Joan, “I quite understand that; and you will write and break the news to father, won’t you?” “No, I’m hanged if I do,” answered the captain. “Never mind, then; I’ll do it,” said the girl, hastily. “I shall just write and tell him that I have changed my name to Trimblett. People have a right to change their name if they like. Lots of them do it. Make haste, you’ll lose your omnibus. I shall never forget your kindness—never.” “Mind!” panted the captain, as she hurried him along, “it—isn’t—settled. I am only going to think it over.” “I don’t know what we should have done without you,” continued Joan. “There isn’t another man in the world would be so kind, I am sure. If you were only thirty or forty years younger I would marry you in reality.” “Mind!” said the captain, grasping the rail of the omnibus and pausing with his foot on the step, “I haven’t—promised.” “I’ll write and tell you when I’ve done it,” said Joan. “I’ll take all the responsibility. Good-by! Good-by!” The conductor hoisted him aboard and he slowly mounted the stairs. He paused at the top to wave a feeble hand, and then, subsiding heavily into a seat, sat thinking out a long and polite letter of refusal. CHAPTER XVII JOAN HARTLEY’S letter to her father was not so easy to write as she had imagined. She tore up draft after draft, and at last, in despair, wrote him a brief and dutiful epistle, informing him that she had changed her name to Trimblett. She added—in a postscript—that she expected he would be surprised; and, having finished her task, sat trying to decide whether to commit it to the post or the flames. It was a question that occupied her all the evening, and the following morning found her still undecided. It was not until the afternoon, when a letter came from Captain Trimblett, declining in violent terms and at great length to be a party to her scheme, that she made up her mind. The information that he had been recalled to Salthaven on the day following only served to strengthen her resolution, and it was with a feeling of almost pious thankfulness that she realized the advantages of such an arrangement. She went out and posted her letter to her father, and then, with a mind at ease, wrote a nice letter to Captain Trimblett, full of apologies for her precipitancy, and regretting that he had not informed her before of what she called his change of mind. She added that, after mature deliberation, she had decided not to return to Salthaven until after he had sailed.