“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Why too late?”
“Oh you would n’t understand,” she answered. “I did n't tell him what it was,—but he suspects, do you see? And I really did n’t give him a chance to refuse. We ’re in his hands,—at his mercy.”
She hurried him to the ladder leading to the wireless house and the eyes of those on deck followed them curiously,—this joyless aristocrat and his butterfly! Behind them walked the central office men.
“You have to go up here,” she said. “I left it with the wireless operator.”
Sir Hubert preceded her stiffly up the ladder, and waited while she knocked at the door of the wireless house. In a moment it was opened by Micky Fitz.
“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Treyelyan!” he exclaimed in his usual cheerful manner. "What can I do for you?”
“I wish to present my husband, Sir Hubert Trevelyan.” she answered. Micky held out his hand but the baronet merely bowed. Then a look half of inspiration, half of mischief, crossed Micky’s freckled face.
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