“I don’t suppose you would want to take her out if you had,” said the girl. The skipper protested. “Bert takes you out,” he said. “He isn’t like most brothers,” said Miss Jewell, shifting along the locker and placing her hand affectionately on the cook’s shoulder. “If I had a sister,” continued the skipper, in a somewhat uneven voice, “I should take her out. This evening, for instance, I should take her to a theatre.” Miss Jewell turned upon him the innocent face of a child. “It would be nice to be your sister,” she said, calmly. The skipper attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. “Well, pretend you are my sister,” he said, at last, “and we’ll go to one.” “Pretend?” said Miss Jewell, as she turned and eyed the cook. “Bert wouldn’t like that,” she said, decidedly. “N—no,” said the cook, nervously, avoiding the skipper’s eye. “It wouldn’t be proper,” said Miss Jewell, sitting upright and looking very proper indeed. “I—I meant Bert to come, too,” said the skipper; “of course,” he added. The severity of Miss Jewell’s expression relaxed. She stole an amused glance at the cook and, reading her instructions in his eye, began to temporize. Ten minutes later the crew of the _Elizabeth Barstow_ in various attitudes of astonishment beheld their commander going ashore with his cook. The mate so far forgot himself as to whistle, but with great presence of mind cuffed the boy’s ear as the skipper turned. For some little distance the three walked along in silence. The skipper was building castles in the air, the cook was not quite at his ease, and the girl, gazing steadily in front of her, appeared slightly embarrassed. By the time they reached Aldgate and stood waiting for an omnibus Miss Jewell found herself assailed by doubts. She remembered that she did not want to go to a theatre, and warmly pressed the two men to go together and leave her to go home. The skipper remonstrated in vain, but the cook came to the rescue, and Miss Jewell, still protesting, was pushed on to a ’bus and propelled upstairs. She took a vacant seat in front, and the skipper and Mr. Jewell shared one behind. The three hours at the theatre passed all too soon, although the girl was so interested in the performance that she paid but slight attention to her companions. During the waits she became interested in her surroundings, and several times called the skipper’s attention to smart-looking men in the stalls and boxes. At one man she stared so persistently that an opera-glass was at last levelled in return. “How rude of him,” she said, smiling sweetly at the skipper. She shook her head in disapproval, but the next moment he saw her gazing steadily at the opera-glasses again. “If you don’t look he’ll soon get tired of it,” he said, between his teeth. “Yes, perhaps he will,” said Miss Jewell, without lowering her eyes in the least.