“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
not allow it. The woman had deliberately attempted to make small of him—him, a senior captain of the Cunard Line! He ’d not compliment her by his presence. She could continue to get on without him and see how she liked it. Then at the conclusion of the voyage he would magnanimously and very formally bid her adieu. It rankled in his bosom that he had picked the wrong man and that she had told him so. That was bad enough, but for this woman—no matter how handsome she was—to try to mix him up and jolly him in that fashion—ugh! Captain Ponsonby, slightly conscious of a congenital Incapacity to understand what the devil she had been up to, felt both chagrined and insulted. Well, they had the chap anyway, safe and alive. No, Mrs. Hubert Trevelyan could eat alone with that fool Ashurst.
The steamer met the advancing fog bank and in a moment her search-light was trying unsuccessfully to bore a red-rimmed yellow hole through it.
“Slow her down!” ordered Ponsonby. “The ’’Saxonia’’ may be around here somewhere.”
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