The remark caused all eyes to be turned towards Sinclair. He was seated on one of the battlements. On his knee was perched Constance Beauchamp. One arm was thrown around his neck. With the other hand she was caressing and arranging the heavy waves of his fair hair. A flush appeared under the tan of his face. Before he had time to reply Constance broke in:
"Oh, daddy, I was just asking Dr. Sinclair why he did not let his hair grow long and fall in big curls on his shoulders. Then he would be so handsome. He would be just like the picture of Harold Fair-Hair, King of Norway, in the last story-book Aunt Jo sent me from England. Dr. Sinclair, won't you let your hair grow? Do! For me!"
Sinclair's face had crimsoned at the sudden attention drawn to him and the frank admiration of the little maid. But he was too gallant to refuse:
"I couldn't resist that appeal. I'll promise. I'll not get my hair cut again until you give me leave."
"Oh, goody! I knew you would do it for me. You're lovely."
"I admire your courage, doctor, more than your good sense," laughed her father. "But it is always the way. A big man can be twisted around the fingers of the littlest maid."
But the one whose presence at this little scene had made the blood tingle in Sinclair's face more sharply than all the others thought to herself:
"It is a child's instinctive attraction to a true man."
That scene on the ramparts of the old Dutch fort became one of the most cherished treasures in the picture-gallery of her memory.
"Well, Mr. De Vaux, I see that the French fleet has arrived. Has the commander given any intimations of his intentions yet?"
"Bless my soul, Mr. MacAllister! ... Is it possible that you have not heard? ... These boys are most exasperating. They'll be the death of me yet.... 'Pon my honour, they will! ... I was with the consul when Admiral Lespès' messenger arrived, and the consul gave me the notice to read.... Extraordinarily decent of the consul! ... I sent the boy to you that very minute with a chit. Did he not deliver it?"
"I'll have him flogged, Mr. MacAllister.... 'Pon my soul, I will.... It is the only way to deal with them, Mr. MacAllister.... Now, where can he be? ... Stopped somewhere along the road, playing fantan and gambling away his month's wages! ... By----! ... 'Pon my word, I mean it's most exasperating.... Flogging is the only thing to cure them when they start gambling. Isn't that your experience, Carteret?"