Gathering her skirts daintily in her left hand, Isobel tripped up the steep stairs. Elsie followed. Courtenay, who had the manner and semblance of the first lieutenant of a warship, stood outside a haven of plate glass, shining mahogany, and white paint. The woodwork of the deck was scrubbed until it had the color of new bread. An officer paced the bridge; a sailor, within the chart-house, held the small wheel of the steam steering-gear. Somewhat to Isobel’s surprise, neither man seemed to be aware of her presence. “So this is your den?” she said, throwing her bird-like glance over the bright interior, before she gave the commander a look which was designed to bewitch him instantly. “Surely you don’t sleep here, too?” “Oh, no. This room is the brain of the ship, Miss Baring. We are always wide-awake here. My quarters are farther aft. I think I can find a chair for you if you care to sit down while I have my tea.” The captain led the way to a spacious cabin behind the chart-house. “I hope you don’t mind the chairs being secured to the deck,” he said, taking off his hat. “So far above sea line, you know, everything that is loose comes to grief when the ship rolls.” “Then what becomes of your photographs?” demanded Isobel, promptly, her quick eyes having discovered the pictures of two ladies in silver frames on a writing-table. “I take care to put them away. There is always plenty of warning. No ordinary sea can trouble a big hulk like the _Kansas_.” “Is that your mother, the dear old lady in the lace cap?” “Yes, and the other is my sister.” “Oh, really! Is she married?” “No. Like me, she is wedded to her profession.” “Will you think it rude if I ask what that is?” “She is a hospital nurse; the matron, indeed, of a public institution in the suburbs of London.” “How wonderful! I do admire hospital nurses so much. They are so clever and self-sacrificing, and they always have a smile on their sweet faces. Only dad wouldn’t hear of such a thing, I should love to be a nurse myself.” And Isobel sighed, dropped her long eyelashes, and examined the toe of a smart brown shoe with a wistful resignation. Courtenay was politely incredulous, but the arrival of the steward with the replenished tea-tray created a diversion. “Do let me pour your tea,” cried Isobel. “I make lovely tea, don’t I, Elsie?” Elsie laughed so cheerfully that Isobel flashed an interrogatory glance at her. Certainly, the notion of Isobel Baring claiming the domestic virtues was amusing. But Elsie answered at once: “I know few things that you cannot do admirably, dear.” So Isobel filled a cup, asked if Captain Courtenay took milk and sugar, and said demurely, with a sip of a spoonful: “Let me see if I can guess your tastes.”