For all that, if perforce he was heart-whole, there was no just cause or impediment why he should not admire a pretty girl when he saw one, and an exceedingly pretty girl had honored him with her company during a brief minute of the previous day.
He was superintending the safe disposal of the last batch of cotton goods in the forward hold--and had just found it necessary to explain the correct principles of stowage with sailor-like fluency--when a young lady, accompanied by a dock laborer carrying a leather portmanteau, spoke to him from the quay.
"Is Captain Coke on board ?" said she.
"No, madam," said he, lifting his cap with one hand, and restraining the clanking of a steam windlass with the other.
"I am Mr.Verity's niece, and I wish to send this parcel to Monte Video--may I put it in some place where it will be safe ?" said she.
Hoping that the rattling winch had drowned his earlier remarks--which were couched in an _lingua franca_ of the high seas--he began to tell her that it would give him the utmost pleasure to take charge of it on her account, but she nodded, bade the porter follow, ran along a somewhat precarious gangway, and was on deck before he could offer any assistance.
"You are Mr.Hozier, I suppose ?" said Iris, gazing with frank brown eyes into his frank blue ones.

She, of course, was severely self-possessed; he, as is the way of mere man, grew more confused each instant.
"Well, I will just pop the bag into Captain Coke's stateroom, and leave this note with it.

I have explained everything fully.

I wrote a line in case he might be absent." All of which was so strictly accurate that it served its purpose admirably, though the said purpose, it is regrettable to state, was the misleading and utter bamboozling of Philip Hozier.

Miss Iris Yorke knew quite well that Captain Coke was then closeted with David Verity in Exchange Buildings; she knew, because she had watched him pass through the big swing doors of her uncle's office.