With a perseverance worthy of a better cause the skipper nudged the cook’s arm and tried again. This time he was successful beyond his wildest dreams, and, after ten minutes’ frantic search, found that he had lost them both. He wandered up and down for hours, and it was past eleven when he returned to the ship and found the cook waiting for him. “We thought something ’ad happened to you,” said the cook. “Kate has been in a fine way about it. Five minutes after you lost me she found me, and we’ve been hunting ’igh and low ever since.” Miss Jewell expressed her relief the next evening, and, stealing a glance at the face of the skipper, experienced a twinge of something which she took to be remorse. Ignoring the cook’s hints as to theatres, she elected to go for a long ’bus ride, and, sitting in front with the skipper, left Mr. Jewell to keep a chaperon’s eye on them from three seats behind. Conversation was for some time disjointed; then the brightness and crowded state of the streets led the skipper to sound his companion as to her avowed taste for a country life. “I should love it,” said Miss Jewell, with a sigh. “But there’s no chance of it; I’ve got my living to earn.” “You might—might marry somebody living in the country,” said the skipper, in trembling tones. Miss Jewell shuddered. “Marry!” she said, scornfully. “Most people do,” said the other. “Sensible people don’t,” said the girl. “You haven’t,” she added, with a smile. “I’m very thankful I haven’t,” retorted the skipper, with great meaning. “There you are!” said the girl, triumphantly. “I never saw anybody I liked,” said the skipper, “be—before.” “If ever I did marry,” said Miss Jewell, with remarkable composure, “if ever I was foolish enough to do such a thing, I think I would marry a man a few years younger than myself.” “Younger?” said the dismayed skipper. Miss Jewell nodded. “They make the best husbands,” she said, gravely. The skipper began to argue the point, and Mr. Jewell, at that moment taking a seat behind, joined in with some heat. A more ardent supporter could not have been found, although his repetition of the phrase “May and December” revealed a want of tact of which the skipper had not thought him capable. What had promised to be a red-letter day in his existence was spoiled, and he went to bed that night with the full conviction that he had better abandon a project so hopeless.