She had written for money, and made no disguise of her motive. Here was no literary lady with all the recognised adjuncts except the literature. She did not write in order that she might talk of having written. She did not talk in such flowing periods and with such overbearing wisdom that insincere friends in sheer weariness were called upon to suggest that she should and could write. In sending her first small attempt to John Craik she had not forwarded therewith a long explanatory letter, which reticence had made him read the manuscript. Eve read the great man's letter a second time, while the captain scratched his head and watched her. "And," he said meekly, "what do you think of doing?" Eve looked up with a happy smile. "What he tells me," she answered. "Oh, I am so glad, uncle; I cannot tell you how glad I am." The captain shuffled awkwardly on his feet. "I'm more than glad," he said. "I'm sorter proud." He pulled down his coat and walked to the window. "Yes," he said, looking out into the street. "That's it. I'm proud. It's a great gift--writin'. A great gift." Eve laughed. "Oh!" she answered. "I'm afraid that I have no gift. It is a very, very minute talent. That is all. I always liked books, but I have not the gift for writing them." Captain Bontnor never thought Eve was a great authoress. In his simple way this man had a vast deal of discrimination, as simple people often have. It is the oversubtle man who makes the most egregious mistakes, because most of us have not time to be subtle. He never suspected Eve of being a great authoress, and he never attributed to her any desire to attain that doubtful pinnacle of fame. But he saw very plainly the immense advantage to be gathered in this time from her talent. In his simplicity he hoped that something would turn up for him to do, in a world which has no pity nor charity for that which is old, effete, and out of fashion. "Yes," he said, after deep thought, "we must do what he tells us. There's no harm in that." Eve laughed. "I thought," she said, "that we understood pride in Spain and Mallorca; but I have never met such a proud caballero as you." She was standing behind him where he stood, looking grimly out of the window, her two hands resting on his broad shoulders. "I suppose," she went on, "that you have once or twice humbled your pride so much as to accept a ship when it was offered you. You said that there are plenty who would give you a command now. John Craik is giving me a ship, that is all." The captain nodded. "Yes," he said, "that's it, that's it. You've got your first ship." CHAPTER II. A COMPACT. Prends moy tel que je suy.