It occurred to Vane, that Miss Blake, who had evidently a spice of temper, could be a staunch partisan; and he also noticed that now he had inspired her with some degree of trust in himself, her conversation was marked by an ingenious candour. For all that, she changed the subject. "Another piece, or some tea?" she asked. "Tea first," said Vane, and they both laughed when she afterwards handed him a double slice of bread. "These sandwiches strike me as unusually nice," he informed her. "It's exceptionally good tea, too." The blue eyes gleamed with amusement, "You have been in the cold all night--but I was once in a restaurant." She watched the effect of this statement on him. "You know I really can't sing--I was never taught, anyway, though there were some of the settlements where we did rather well." Vane hummed a few bars of a song. "I don't suppose you realise what one ballad of yours has done. I'd almost forgotten the Old Country, but the night I heard you I felt I must go back and see it again. What's more, Carroll and I are going shortly; it's your doing." This was a matter of fact, but Kitty Blake had produced a deeper effect on him, although he was not aware of it yet. "It's a shame to keep you handing me things to eat," he added disconnectedly. "Still, I'd like another piece." She smiled, delighted, as she passed the food to him. "You can't help yourself and steer the boat. Besides--after the restaurant--I don't mind waiting on you." Vane made no comment, but he watched her with satisfaction while he ate, and as one result of it the sloop plunged heavily into the frothing sea. There was no sign of the others, and they were alone on the waste of tumbling water in the early dawn. The girl was pretty, and there was a pleasing daintiness about her. She belonged to the people--there was no doubt of that; but then Vane had a strong faith in the people, native-born and adopted, of the Pacific slope. It was from them he had received the greatest kindnesses he could remember. They were cheerful optimists; indomitable grapplers with forest and flood, who did almost incredible things with axe and saw and giant-powder. They lived in lonely ranch houses, tents, and rudely flung up shacks; driving the new roads along the rangeside, risking life and limb in wild-cat adits. They were quick to laughter and reckless in hospitality. Then with an effort he brushed the hazy thoughts away. Kitty Blake was merely a guest of his; in another day he would land her in Victoria, and that would be the end of it. He was assuring himself of this when Carroll crawled up through the scuttle forward and came aft to join them. In spite of his prudent reflections, Vane was by no means certain that he was pleased to see him. CHAPTER III AN AFTERNOON ASHORE.