"Have he got papers of identification about him, miss?" he asked in a
stage whisper.
"I don't know," she answered laughing. "He says that he is Mr. Owen
Davies."
"Well, praps he is and praps he ain't; anyway, it isn't my affair, and
sixpence is sixpence."
All of this the unfortunate Mr. Davies overheard, and it did not add to
his equanimity.
"Now, sir, if you please," said Edward sternly, as he pulled the little
boat up to the edge of the breakwater. A vision of Mrs. Thomas shot into
Owen's mind. If the boatman did not believe in him, what chance had he
with the housekeeper? He wished he had brought the lawyer down with him,
and then he wished that he was back in the sugar brig.
"Now, sir," said Edward still more sternly, putting down his hesitation
to an impostor's consciousness of guilt.
"Um!" said Owen to the young lady, "I beg your pardon. I don't even know
your name, and I am sure I have no right to ask it, but would you mind
rowing across with me? It would be so kind of you; you might introduce
me to the housekeeper."
Again Beatrice laughed the merry laugh of girlhood; she was too young to
be conscious of any impropriety in the situation, and indeed there was
none.
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