Mrs. Blake rose from her chair. The air was decidedly cooler, she
would go downstairs and prepare for dinner. Shirley said she would
remain on deck a little longer. She was tired of walking, so when
her aunt left them she took her chair and told Jefferson to get
another. He wanted nothing better, but before seating himself he
took the rugs and wrapped Shirley up with all the solicitude of a
mother caring for her first born. Arranging the pillow under her
head, he asked:

"Is that comfortable?"

She nodded, smiling at him.

"You're a good boy, Jeff. But you'll spoil me."

"Nonsense," he stammered as he took another chair and put himself
by her side. "As if any fellow wouldn't give his boots to do a
little job like that for you!"

She seemed to take no notice of the covert compliment. In fact,
she already took it as a matter of course that Jefferson was very
fond of her.

Did she love him? She hardly knew. Certainly she thought more of
him than of any other man she knew and she readily believed that
she could be with him for the rest of her life and like him better
every day. Then, too, they had become more intimate during the
last few days. This trouble, this unknown peril had drawn them
together. Yes, she would be sorry if she were to see Jefferson