seemed to be able to believe he'd gone
at last."

"It's a good job he wasn't married," said Mrs. Wheeler, raising herself
on her elbow; "sailors 'ave no right to marry at all. If I thought
that one 'o my gals was goin' to marry a sailor, I don't know what I
shouldn't do. Something steady on shore is the thing."

"I don't know," said the tactless Mr. Wheeler. "I think if I was a gal I
should like to marry a sailor; there's something romantic about them. I
often wish I'd been a sailor."

"Then you wouldn't 'ave 'ad me," said the lady from the sofa, grimly.

Mr. Wheeler sighed, but whether at the thought of what he might have
lost or what he had gained, cannot be safely determined. Still in
a morbid mood, he relapsed into silence, leaving Fraser to glance
anxiously to where Poppy, pale and pretty, sat listening to the clumsy
overtures of Mr. Bob Wheeler.

"I might 'ave 'ad two or three sailors if I'd liked," continued Mrs.
Wheeler, musingly, "but I wouldn't."

Fraser murmured his admiration at her firmness.

"There was Tom Rogers, 'e was the first," said Mrs. Wheeler; "you
remember 'im, father?"

"Chap with bow legs and a squint, wasn't he?" said the dock-foreman,
anxious to please.

"I never saw 'im squint," said his wife, sharply. "Then there was Robert
Moore--he was number two, I think."

"'Ad a wife a'ready," said Mr. Wheeler, turning to the visitor; "'e was
a bright lot, 'e was."

"I don't know what they saw in me, I'm sure," said Mrs. Wheeler, with a
little modest laugh; "it wasn't my good looks, I'm sure."

"You 'ad something better than good looks, my dear," said the
dock-foreman, affectionately, "something what's wore better."

Mrs. Wheeler turned on the sofa, and detecting Gussie in the act of
using his mouth as a moneybox, upbraided him shrilly and sent him into
a corner. She then brought sundry charges of omission and commission
against the other children, until the air was thick with denials and
explanations, in the midst of which Fraser turned towards Poppy.

"I want to have a few minutes' talk with you, Miss Tyrell," he said,
nervously.

The girl looked up at him. "Yes," she said, gravely.

"I mean alone," continued the other, marvelling at his hardihood; "it's
private."

He lowered his voice from a shout to its normal tone as Emma Wheeler in
self-defence opened the door and drove the small fry out.

"I've not got my rooms now," said the girl, quietly.

"Well, my dear--" began the do