This was one of them. Wanting to do "the thing" and send a wireless message to her sister in Cape Town, Mrs. Shallop was too fatigued to mount the bridge-ladder; her husband had sheepishly slunk away to the smoking-room, and only Olive was available to undertake the commission.
"I'm sorry to have interrupted you," remarked Olive.
"Not at all; don't mention it," protested Peter; then, in an outburst of candour, he added: "You haven't seen our wireless-room."
"I should love to," rejoined Olive, who had the modern girl's leanings towards anything of a scientific nature. "I always wanted to see what it was like and how it worked, but I didn't like to ask you."
Without more ado Mostyn proceeded to explain the mysteries of that steel-walled house, unconsciously launching out into an intricate technical lecture on wave-lengths, atmospherics, induced current, valve and spark-gaps, until Olive was quite bewildered.
"There's nothing doing," he remarked, after the girl had placed the telephone ear-pieces to her shapely ears. "We're too far away from land. But I'll disconnect the aerial and let you see a ripping spark."
"Another time, Mr. Mostyn," demurred Olive. "Mrs. Shallop will wonder what I've been doing."
Calling silent maledictions upon the head of the tartar, Peter escorted the girl to the head of the bridge-ladder, extorting a promise that she would pay another visit to the wireless-cabin when the ship got within radiographic range.
He watched her disappear from sight and slowly made his way back to the cabin. Somehow the home-letter proceeded slowly and disjointedly. He was thinking of the jolly little girl who took such an interest in wireless.
Poor Peter! If he had only known how he had tired her almost to the verge of boredom.
Ten minutes after Miss Baird's departure Mostyn "got busy". Away to the starboard a vessel was calling CQ. The note was very faint and considerably hampered by atmospherics.
He was still endeavouring to tune in to the correct wave-length when he was interrupted by a vigorous punch between the shoulder-blades. Over his shoulder he saw that the interrupter was Mrs. Shallop.
Peter was rather more than annoyed by the interruption. He was angry. There was no denying that he possessed a temper, but he had usually the happy knack of keeping his feelings well under control. In the present circumstances he felt inclined to expostulate vehemently.