“I’ll get dressed. ’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. Let me say it to you. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. There were swift actions, too: a Kanaka crawled out upon the bowsprit to make taut a slack stay, while two others with pulley-blocks swarmed aloft. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing.
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