" said the admiral, metaphorically drawing
himself beneath the shell of his English reserve. "Mutual tastes--
yachting. Acquaintances, sir."

"I beg your pardon; acquaintances, then."

There was a pause, during which the admiral also lit a fresh cigar, and
his brows twitched a little.

"Sir Mark, I'm a plain man, and I think by this time you pretty well
know my history. I ought to be over in Trinidad superintending the
cocoa estate my poor father left me, but I detest the West Indies, and I
love European life. It is my misfortune to be too well off. Not rich,
but I have a comfortable, modest income. Naturally idle, I suppose."

"Nonsense, sir!" said the admiral gruffly. "One of the most active men
I ever met."

"Thank you. Well, idle, according to the accepted ideas of some of the
Americans we meet abroad. Dollars--making dollars--their whole
conversation chinks of the confounded coin, and their ladies' dresses
rustle with greenbacks. I hate money-making, but I like money for my
slave, which bears me into good society and among the beauties of
nature. Yes, I am an idler--full, perhaps, of dilettantism."

"Rather a long preface, Mr Barron," said Sir Mark gruffly. "Make
headway, please. What is it you wish to say?"

"I think you know, sir," said the other warmly. "I lived to
thirty-seven, hardly giving a thought to the other sex, save as
agreeable companions. I met you and your niece and daughter over yonder
at Macugnaga, and the whole world was changed."

"Humph!"

"I am not a boy, sir. I speak to you as a man of the world, and I tell
you plainly that I love her as a strong man only can love."

"Edith?"

"Don't trifle with me, sir!" cried Barron, bringing his hand down
heavily upon the table, and gazing almost fiercely in the old sailor's
eyes.

"Humph! my daughter, then. And you have told her all this?"

"Sir Mark Jerrold! Have I ever given you cause to think I was other
than a gentleman?"

"No, no," said the admiral hastily. "I beg your pardon. But this is
all very sudden; we are such new acquaintances."

"You might call it friends," said Barron reproachfully.

"No; acquaintances--yet," said the old sailor sturdily.

"Then you do give me some hope?" cried Barron excitedly.

"No, I did not, sir. I'm out of soundings here. No; hang it, I meant
to say, sir, in shoal water. Hang it, man, I don't want the child to
think about such things for years."

"Sir Mark, your daughter m