n the sea, you shall have the Belle of the Wye,
launched last year. 'Tis time Captain Elliott took to his pension."

The captain sighed, and a gleam I did not understand came into his dark
eyes.

"I would that God had given me your character and your heart, Richard,"
he said, "in place of this striving thing I have within me. But 'tis
written that a leopard cannot change his spots."

"The passage shall be booked this day," I said.

That morning was an eventful one. Comyn arrived first, dressed in a suit
of mauve French cloth that set off his fine figure to great advantage.
He regarded me keenly as he entered, as if to discover whether I had
changed my mind over night. And I saw he was not in the best of tempers.

"And when do you sail?" he cried. "I have no doubt you have sent out
already to get passage."

"I have been trying to persuade Mr. Carvel to remain in London, my Lord,"
said the captain. "I tell him he is leaving his best interests behind
him."

"I fear that for once you have undertaken a task beyond your ability,
Captain Paul," was the rather tart reply.

"The captain has a ridiculous idea that he is the cause of my going," I
said quickly.

John Paul rose somewhat abruptly, seized his hat and bowed to his
Lordship, and in the face of a rain sallied out, remarking that he had
as yet seen nothing of the city.

"Jack, you must do me the favour not to talk of this in John Paul's
presence," I said, when the door had closed.

"If he doesn't suspect why you are going, he has more stupidity than I
gave him credit for," Comyn answered gruffly.

"I fear he does suspect," I said.

His Lordship went to the table and began to write, leaving me to the
Chronicle, the pages of which I did not see. Then came Mr. Dix, and
such a change I had never beheld in mortal man. In place of the
would-be squire I had encountered in Threadneedle Street, here was an
unctuous person of business in sober gray; but he still wore the
hypocritical smirk with no joy in it. His bow was now all respectful
obedience. Comyn acknowledged it with a curt nod.

Mr. Dix began smoothly, where a man of more honesty would have found the
going difficult.

"Mr. Carvel," he said, rubbing his hands, "I wish first to express my
profound regrets for what has happened."

"Curse your regrets," said Comyn, bluntly. "You come here on business.
Mr. Carvel does not stand in need of regrets at present."

"I was but on the safe side of Mr. Carvel's m