“I’m a bit late,” she said, flushing slightly. She crossed over and shook hands with the skipper, and, in the most natural fashion in the world, took a seat and began to remove her gloves. The mate swung round and regarded her open-mouthed; the skipper, whose ideas were in a whirl, sat regarding her in silence. The mate was the first to move; he left the cabin rubbing his shin, and casting furious glances at the skipper. “You didn’t expect to see me?” said the girl, reddening again. “No,” was the reply. The girl looked at the tablecloth. “I came to beg your pardon,” she said, in a low voice. “There’s nothing to beg my pardon for,” said the skipper, clearing his throat. “By rights I ought to beg yours. You did quite right to make fun of me. I can see it now.” “When you asked me whether I was Bert’s sister I didn’t like to say ‘no,’ continued the girl; “and at first I let you come out with me for the fun of the thing, and then Bert said it would be good for him, and then—then—” “Yes,” said the skipper, after a long pause. The girl broke a biscuit into small pieces, and arranged them on the cloth. “Then I didn’t mind your coming so much,” she said, in a low voice. The skipper caught his breath and tried to gaze at the averted face. The girl swept the crumbs aside and met his gaze squarely. “Not quite so much,” she explained. “I’ve been a fool,” said the skipper. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve made myself a laughing-stock all round, but if I could have it all over again I would.” “That can never be,” said the girl, shaking her head. “Bert wouldn’t come.” [Illustration: “‘Good-by,’ he said, slowly; ‘and I wish you both every happiness.’”] “No, of course not,” asserted the other. The girl bit her lip. The skipper thought that he had never seen her eyes so large and shining. There was a long silence. “Good-by,” said the girl at last, rising. The skipper rose to follow. “Good-by,” he said, slowly; “and I wish you both every happiness.” “Happiness?” echoed the girl, in a surprised voice. “Why?” “When you are married.” “I am not going to be married,” said the girl. “I told Bert so this afternoon. Good-by.” The skipper actually let her get nearly to the top of the ladder before he regained his presence of mind. Then, in obedience to a powerful tug at the hem of her skirt, she came down again, and accompanied him meekly back to the cabin. HIS LORDSHIP [Illustration] HIS LORDSHIP Farmer Rose sat in his porch smoking an evening pipe. By his side, in a comfortable Windsor chair, sat his friend the miller, also smoking, and gazing with half-closed eyes at the landscape as he listened for the thousandth time to his host’s complaints about his daughter. “The long and the short of it is, Cray,” said the farmer, with an air of mournful pride, “she’s far too good-looking.” Mr. Cray grunted.