“He’d better not,” said Mrs. Truefitt, sharply.  “I never heard of such a thing—­never.”

She continued to grumble, while Prudence, in a low voice, endeavoured to soothe her.  Her efforts were evidently successful, as the prisoner was, after a time, surprised to hear the older woman laugh—­at first gently, and then with so much enjoyment that her daughter was at some pains to restrain her.  He sat in patience until evening deepened into night, and a line of light beneath the folding-doors announced the lighting of the lamp in the front-room.  By a pleasant clatter of crockery he became aware that they were at supper, and he pricked up his ears as Prudence made another reference to him.

“If he comes to-morrow night while you are out I sha’n’t open the door,” she said.  “You’ll be back by nine, I suppose.”

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.”