to be lost. I take it that settles the question of your sailing with us. You cannot possibly be ready.â
âOn the contrary.â She was not to be put off so easily. âI can be ready in half an hour.â
âThen you are a most unusual young lady.â He pulled out a large gold watch. âBut I can give you longer than that, if you are sure you wish to come with us. It will not be luxurious, youknow. The living will be hard, the quarters rough, the society boorish. I do not know how your fatherâs daughter will bear it.â
âMy fatherâs daughter?â She had never thought of herself in that light before. âOh, do you know my father?â
âIn some sort. As much as a poor shipâs captain can know a cabinet minister. To be frank with you, that is the only reason I will for a moment consider taking you with me. I understand â you will forgive my frankness â but there is no question but that you
are
his daughter?â
âNot the least in the world. Would you care to see my papers?â
âNo, no. You will hear that I dislike most women, but I hope I know an honest one when I meet her. You could not lie without that colour of yours betraying you. There, what did I tell you?â
Infuriated by the recurrent blush, she nevertheless returned to the attack. âThen you will take me?â
âWhy, yes. I rather believe I will. But on conditions, mind you. Your passage will be paid in advance. I cannot trust your father for that. It is not the way I do business.â
Of course not. Will I give it to you now?â
âNo, no. When you come aboard will be time enough. As for your cabin, I shall give you the supercargoâs, next to mine. You will be safe enough there. Fortunately for you, we are short-handed this voyage; my second mate is a Yankee and chooses to remain here. And that reminds me of the most important point of our agreement. You will not tamper with my officers. Iâll not have a parcel of lovesick lubbers on my hands. Is that understood?â
âI will do my best, sir. To tell truth, I have not hitherto found myself irresistible to men.â
âHave you not? You surprise me. But so much the better. Very well then, that is the first article of our agreement. You will leave my officers alone. If you must have society, you may have mine. I will bear you company, if necessary, and tell you what you may expect of life in England. For I have no doubt you are full of golden dreams, are you not?â He barked the last question at her, a ferocious gleam in his blue eyes.
âWhy, of course. I have dreamt of England ever since I was in short petticoats, and I do not propose to stop for you or any one. Only please take me there.â
âI will, never fear for that. But I warn you; it will be adangerous voyage. War will be declared, I have no doubt, before we are many days at sea. How will you like it if we are taken by one of your men of war?â
âOne of ours, sir? I would have you remember I am as English as you.â
âExcept, I take it, for a little matter of a Yankee mother, but well spoken just the same. Very well, we will flee the damned colonials together ⦠And that reminds me of another point of our agreement. You will not expect me to modify my language because you are aboard.â
âWhy should I? My dear sir, I have lived with a maiden aunt all my life and when I hear myself cry âfiddlestick!â like her, I could cut my own throat.â
He laughed. âWeâll have you swearing more heartily before you get to England. Never fear for that. And so to the last point of our agreement. I have a young brother who longs to be in Parliament. When you have come into your own, will you speak to your father for him?â
âOf course I will.â Warmly. âBut I beg you will not hope too much from my influence. My father may not choose to acknowledge me. That is the risk I