Christian Young sailed away in the _Minerva_, carrying an invitation
(that would be delivered nobody knew when) to Tommy Jones to drop in at
Berande the next time he was passing.
"What are your plans when you get to Sydney?" Sheldon asked, that night,
at dinner.
"First I've heard that I'm going to Sydney," Joan retorted. "I suppose
you've received information, by bush-telegraph, that that third assistant
understrapper and ex-sailorman at Tulagi is going to deport me as an
undesirable immigrant."
"Oh, no, nothing of the sort, I assure you," Sheldon began with awkward
haste, fearful of having offended, though he knew not how. "I was just
wondering, that was all. You see, with the loss of the schooner and . .
and all the rest . . . you understand . . I was thinking that
if--a--if--hang it all, until you could communicate with your friends, my
agents at Sydney could advance you a loan, temporary you see, why I'd be
only too glad and all the rest, you know. The proper--"
But his jaw dropped and he regarded her irritably and with apprehension.
"What _is_ the matter?" he demanded, with a show of heat. "What _have_ I
done now?"
Joan's eyes were bright with battle, the curve of her lips sharp with
mockery.
"Certainly not the unexpected," she said quietly.
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