A Rock in the Baltic | Page 8

a pleasure for me to serve you. With whom shall you come?
I should like to know the name, in case I should miss you in the
crowd."
"I expect to be with Captain Kempt, of the United States Navy."
"Ah," said the Lieutenant, with a note of disappointment in his voice
which he had not the diplomacy to conceal. His hold of her hand
relaxed, and she took the opportunity to withdraw it.
"What sort of a man is Captain Kempt? I shall be on the lookout for
him, you know."
"I think he is the handsomest man I have ever seen, and I know he is
the kindest and most courteous."
"Really? A young man, I take it?"

"There speaks the conceit of youth," said Dorothy, smiling. "Captain
Kempt, U.S.N., retired. His youngest daughter is just two years older
than myself."
"Oh, yes, Captain Kempt. I-- I remember him now. He was at the
dinner last night, and sat beside our captain. What a splendid
story-teller he is!" cried the Lieutenant with honest enthusiasm.
"I shall tell him that, and ask him how he liked your song. Good-by,"
and before the young man could collect his thoughts to make any reply,
she was gone.
Skimming lightly over the ground at first, she gradually slackened her
pace, and slowed down to a very sober walk until she came to a
three-storied so-called "cottage" overlooking the Bay, then with a sigh
she opened the gate, and went into the house by the servant's entrance.
CHAPTER II
IN THE SEWING-ROOM
THREE women occupied the sewing-room with the splendid outlook: a
mother and her two daughters. The mother sat in a low rocking-chair, a
picture of mournful helplessness, her hands listlessly resting on her lap,
while tears had left their traces on her time-worn face. The elder
daughter paced up and down the room as striking an example of energy
and impatience as was the mother of despondency. Her comely brow
was marred by an angry frown. The younger daughter stood by the long
window, her forehead resting against the pane, while her fingers
drummed idly on the window sill. Her gaze was fixed on the blue Bay,
where rested the huge British warship "Consternation," surrounded by a
section of the United States squadron seated like white swans in the
water. Sails of snow glistened here and there on the bosom of the Bay,
while motor-boats and what-not darted this way and that impudently
among the stately ships of the fleet.
In one corner of the room stood a sewing-machine, and on the long
table were piles of mimsy stuff out of which feminine creations are

constructed. There was no carpet on the floor, and no ceiling overhead;
merely the bare rafters and the boards that bore the pine shingles of the
outer roof; yet this attic was notable for the glorious view to be seen
from its window. It was an ideal workshop.
The elder girl, as she walked to and fro, spoke with nervous irritation in
her voice.
"There is absolutely no excuse, mamma, and it's weakness in you to
pretend that there may be. The woman has been gone for hours. There's
her lunch on the table which has never been tasted, and the servant
brought it up at twelve."
She pointed to a tray on which were dishes whose cold contents bore
out the truth of her remark.
"Perhaps she's gone on strike," said the younger daughter, without
removing her eyes from H.M.S. "Consternation." "I shouldn't wonder if
we went downstairs again we'd find the house picketed to keep away
blacklegs."
"Oh, you can always be depended on to talk frivolous nonsense," said
her elder sister scornfully. "It's the silly sentimental fashion in which
both you and father treat work-people that makes them so difficult to
deal with. If the working classes were taught their place--"
"Working classes! How you talk! Dorothy is as much a lady as we are,
and sometimes I think rather more of a lady than either of us. She is the
daughter of a clergyman."
"So she says," sniffed the elder girl.
"Well, she ought to know," replied the younger indifferently.
"It's people like you who spoil dependents in her position, with your
Dorothy this and Dorothy that. Her name is Amhurst."
"Christened Dorothy, as witness godfather and godmother," murmured

the younger without turning her head.
"I think," protested their mother meekly, as if to suggest a compromise,
and throw oil on the troubled waters, "that she is entitled to be called
Miss Amhurst, and treated with kindness but with reserve."
"Tush!" exclaimed the elder indignantly, indicating her rejection of the
compromise.
"I don't see," murmured the younger, "why you should storm, Sabina.
You nagged and nagged at her until she'd finished your ball-dress. It is