with flashing eyes.

"You dare!" she cried. "Kiss me by force! Pooh! you make love
like a schoolboy. If you can make me like you, I'll kiss you
as often as you will. If you can't, keep your distance, please."

Blunt did not know whether to laugh or be angry at this rebuff.
He was conscious that he was in rather a ridiculous position,
and so decided to laugh.

"You're a spitfire, too. What must I do to make you like me?"

She made him a curtsy.

"That is your affair," she said; and as the head of Mr. Frere appeared
above the companion, Blunt walked aft, feeling considerably bewildered,
and yet not displeased.

"She's a fine girl, by jingo," he said, cocking his cap,
"and I'm hanged if she ain't sweet upon me."

And then the old fellow began to whistle softly to himself
as he paced the deck, and to glance towards the man who had taken his place
with no friendly eyes. But a sort of shame held him as yet, and he kept aloof.

Maurice Frere's greeting was short enough.

"Well, Sarah," he said, "have you got out of your temper?"

She frowned.