Miss Port, who was busy in the back part of the house, heard voices, and now came forward.  She was wiping her hands upon her apron, and one of them she extended to the captain.

“I am glad to see you—­John,” she said, speaking in a very gentle voice, and hesitating a little at the last word.

The captain looked at her steadfastly, and then, without taking her hand, he said:  “I want to speak to you by yourself.  I’ll go into the parlor.”

She politely stepped back to let him pass her, and then her father turned quickly to her.

“Did you expect to see him back so soon?” he asked.

She smiled and looked down.  “Oh, yes,” said she, “I was sure he’d come back very soon.”

The old man heaved a sigh, and returned to his paper.

Maria followed the captain.  “John,” said she, speaking in a low voice, “wouldn’t you rather come into the dinin’-room?  He’s a little bit hard of hearin’, but if you don’t want him to hear anything he’ll take in every word of it.”

“Maria Port,” said the captain, speaking in a strong, upper-deck voice, “what I have to say I’ll say here.  I don’t want the people in the street to hear me, but if your father chooses to listen I would rather he did it than not.”

She looked at him inquiringly.  “Well,” she answered, “I suppose he will have to hear it some time or other, and he might as well hear it now as not.  He’s all I’ve got in the world, and you know as well as I do that I run to tell him everything that happens to me as soon as it happens.  Will you sit down?”

“No,” said the captain, “I can speak better standing.  Maria Port, I have found out that you have been trying to make people believe that I am engaged to marry you.”

The smile did not leave Maria’s face.  “Well, ain’t you?” said she.

A look of blank amazement appeared on the face of the captain, but it was quickly succeeded by the blackness of rage.  He was about to swear, but restrained himself.

“Engaged to you?” he shouted, forgetting entirely the people in the street; “I’d rather be engaged to a fin-back shark!”

The smile now left her face.  “Oh, thank you very much,” she said.  “And this is what you meant by your years of devotion!  I held out for a long time, knowing the difference in our ages and the habits of sailors, and now—­just when I make up my mind to give in, to think of my father and not of myself, and to sacrifice my feelin’s so that he might always have one of his old friends near him, now that he’s got too feeble to go out by himself, and at his age you know as well as I do he ought to have somebody near him besides me, for who can tell what may happen, or how sudden—­you come and tell me you’d rather marry a fish.  I suppose you’ve got somebody else in your mind, but that don’t make no difference to me.  I’ve got no fish to offer you, but I have myself that you’ve wanted so long, and which now you’ve got.”