Mrs. Truefitt assented.
"And you won't be leaving before seven," continued Prudence. "I shall be all right."
Mr. Catesby's face glowed and his eyes grew tender; Prudence was as clever as she was beautiful. The delicacy with which she had intimated the fact of the unconscious Mrs. Truefitt's absence on the following evening was beyond all praise. The only depressing thought was that such resourcefulness savoured of practice.
He sat in the darkness for so long that even the proximity of Prudence was not sufficient amends for the monotony of it, and it was not until past ten o'clock that the folding-doors were opened and he stood blinking at the girl in the glare of the lamp.
"Quick!" she whispered.
Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted room.
"The front-door is open," whispered Prudence. "Make haste. I'll close it."
She followed him to the door; he made an ineffectual attempt to seize her hand, and the next moment was pushed gently outside and the door closed behind him. He stood a moment gazing at the house, and then hastened back to his ship.
"Seven to-morrow," he murmured; "seven to-morrow. After all, there's nothing pays in this world like cheek—nothing."
He slept soundly that night, though the things that the second-engineer said to him about wasting a hard-working man's evening would have lain heavy on the conscience of a more scrupulous man. The only thing that troubled him was the manifest intention of his friend not to let him slip through his fingers on the following evening. At last, in sheer despair at his inability to shake him off, he had to tell him that he had an appointment with a lady.
"Well, I'll come, too," said the other, glowering at him. "It's very like she'll have a friend with her; they generally do."
"I'll run round and tell her," said Catesby. "I'd have arranged it before, only I thought you didn't care about that sort of thing."
"Female society is softening," said the second-engineer. "I'll go and put on a clean collar."
Catesby watched him into his cabin and then, though it still wanted an hour to seven, hastily quitted the ship and secreted himself in the private bar of the Beehive.
He waited there until a quarter past seven, and then, adjusting his tie for about the tenth time that evening in the glass behind the bar, sallied out in the direction of No. 5.
He knocked lightly, and waited. There was no response, and he knocked again. When the fourth knock brought no response, his heart sank within him and he indulged in vain speculations as to the reasons for this unexpected hitch in the programme. He knocked again, and then the door opened suddenly and Prudence, with a little cry of surprise and dismay, backed into the passage.
"You!" she said, regarding him with large eyes. Mr. Catesby bowed tenderly, and passing in closed the door behind him.
"I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night," he said, humbly.
"Very well," said Prudence; "good-bye."
Mr. Catesby smiled. "It'll take me a long time to thank you as I ought to thank you," he murmured. "And then I want to apologise; that'll take time, too."
"You had better go," said Prudence, severely; "kindness is thrown away upon you. I ought to have let you be punished."
"You are too good and kind," said the other, drifting by easy stages into the parlour.
Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following him into the room seated herself in an easy-chair and sat coldly watchful.
"How do you know what I am?" she inquired.
"Your face tells me," said the infatuated Richard. "I hope you will forgive me for my rudeness last night. It was all done on the spur of the moment."
"I am glad you are sorry," said the girl, softening.
"All the same, if I hadn't done it," pursued Mr. Catesby, "I shouldn't be sitting here talking to you now."
Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them modestly to the ground. "That is true," she said, quietly.