carpets, gas-stoves
and pans, and Miss Grant told Barbara what the articles cost. They had
been buying furniture and Robertson stated they were to be married soon.

"I reckon you haven't got so far yet," he said to Lister, and when
Barbara saw Miss Grant touch him she blushed. It was ridiculous, but the
blood came to her skin, and then, noting Lister's embarrassment, she
began to laugh.

"Jim _will_ talk like that!" Miss Grant remarked.

"Oh, well," said Robertson, "I expect it's rather soon. Mr. Lister
hasn't joined us long, and you don't begin at the top." He turned to
Barbara with an encouraging smile. "All the same, he knows his job and
has got one move up. Perhaps if he sticks to it, for a year or two--"

Miss Grant stopped him and asked Barbara's views about curtains. She had
some patterns, and while they contrasted the material and the prices the
door opened and a greasy, red-haired fellow gave the group a benevolent
grin.

"Was thim doughnuts all right?" he inquired.

"I've had better, but you've made some worse, Mike," Robertson replied.

"Yez said _tea for two_. If ye'd told me it was a party, I'd have been
afther stealing the captain's Cork butter. A cook cannot do his best
whin the shore-steward sends him engine-grease. Annyhow, whin ye're
young an' romantic, what's it mather what ye ate?"

He went off and Robertson began to talk about _Ardrigh_. He was naively
proud of the boat and his engines, and narrated hard runs in bad weather
to land the livestock in time for important markets. Sometimes the
hollow channel-seas that buried the plunging forecastle filled the decks
and icy cataracts came down the stokehold gratings. Sometimes the cattle
pens broke and mangled bullocks rolled about in the water and wreckage.

Robertson had a talent for narrative and Barbara felt something of the
terror and lure of the sea. She liked the _Ardrigh's_ rather grimy crew,
their cheerfulness and rude good-humor. They did useful things, big
things now and then; they were strong, warm-blooded fellows, not
polished loafers like Mortimer's friends. Then she approved Miss Grant's
frank pride in her lover. There was something primitive about these
people. They were, so to speak, human, and not ashamed of their
humanity. Lister was somehow like them; she wondered whether this had
attracted her. Perhaps she was attracted, but the attraction must not be
indulged.

By and by Miss Grant resumed her talk about curtains, and wh