“I don’t want to deceive you. Father’s on the river in his boat.”

“At the old work?” asked the man.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Pleasant, shrinking a step back. “What on earth d’ye want?”

“I don’t want to hurt your father. I don’t want to say I might, if I chose. I want to speak to him. Not much in that, is there? There shall be no secrets from you; you shall be by. And plainly, Miss Riderhood, there’s nothing to be got out of me, or made of me. I am not good for the Leaving Shop, I am not good for the Boardinghouse, I am not good for anything in your way to the extent of sixpenn’orth of halfpence. Put the idea aside, and we shall get on together.”

“But you’re a seafaring man?” argued Pleasant, as if that were a sufficient reason for his being good for something in her way.

“Yes and no. I have been, and I may be again. But I am not for you. Won’t you take my word for it?”