jacket was by no means remarkably becoming, and one of her small, uncovered hands—­why would Matty take her gloves off?—­was burnt red, not brown by the sun.  Beatrice, on the contrary, looked as she always did, trim and neat, and bright and gracious.  She had on the gray cashmere dress which she had worn when Captain Bertram first began to lose his heart to her, and over this, tonight, she had twisted a long bright crimson scarf.  Into her white hat, too, she had pinned a great bunch of crimson roses, so that, altogether, Beatrice in her pretty green boat made a beautiful picture.  She would have made this in any case, for her pose was so good, and her figure fine, but when, in addition, there was a sweet intelligent face without one scrap of self-consciousness about it, and two gray eyes full of a tender and sympathetic light, and when the rosy lips only opened to make the pleasantest and most appropriate speeches, and only to give utterance to words of tact and kindness, Mrs. Bell was not very far wrong when she felt a sense of uneasiness for her own poor chick.

Shuffle, however, as she would up in the stern, viciously pull the rudder string so as to incline the boat away from Beatrice, the captain’s will still kept the green boat and the white together.  Was he likely to give in or to succumb to a woman like Mrs. Bell?  Had he not planned this meeting in his own mind from an early hour that morning?  For had he not met Beatrice and incidentally gathered that she would be sure to be on the water that night?  And after receiving this information, had he not carefully made his plans, wandering about on the quay just when the Bells were getting into their boat, accepting the invitation eagerly given that he should go on the water with them, and afterwards come home to supper.

“Sophy,” Mrs. Bell had gasped, at that critical and triumphant moment in a whisper, pulling her youngest daughter aside, “fly up to Gibb’s at the corner, and order in two lobsters for supper.  The captain loves lobsters with the coral in them.  Be sure you see that they have the coral in them, Sophy.  Fly, child.  We’ll wait for you here.”

And Captain Bertram had overheard this whisper, and mentally determined that Beatrice Meadowsweet should also eat lobster with coral in it for supper.  Was it likely, therefore, that he would now yield to that impatient tug of Mrs. Bell’s rudder?  On the contrary, he put out his hand in apparently the most unconscious way, and held the little green boat to the side of the white.  In his way he was a diplomat, and even Matty did not suspect that he wanted to do anything but show her a kindness by keeping her in such close conversation with her friend.

“It’s getting quite chill,” suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Bell.  “Girls, it’s time for us to be getting home.  Your father likes his supper punctually.  Well, Bee, my dear, there’s no use in asking you to supper, I suppose?  Of course, more than welcome you’d be if you would come, lovey, but you’re such a daughter—­one in a thousand.  I assure you, Captain Bertram, I can hardly ever get that girl to leave her mother alone in the evening.”