“And suppose Mrs. Church gets fond of you,” he said, gravely. “It doesn’t seem right to trifle with a woman’s affections like that.” “I won’t go too far,” said the lady-killer in the smoking-cap, reassuringly. “Elizabeth and her mother are still away, I suppose?” said Flower, after a pause. His uncle nodded. “So, of course, you needn’t do much love-making till they come back,” said his nephew; “it’s waste of time, isn’t it?” “I’ll just keep my hand in,” said Captain Barber, thoughtfully. “I can’t say as I find it disagreeable. I was always one to take a little notice of the sects.” He got up to go indoors. “Never mind about them,” he said, as his nephew was about to follow with the chair and his tobacco-jar; “Mrs. Church likes to do that herself, and she’d be disappointed if anybody else did it.” His nephew followed him to the house in silence, listening later on with a gloomy feeling of alarm to the conversation at the supper-table. The _rôle_ of gooseberry was new to him, and when Mrs. Church got up from the table for the sole purpose of proving her contention that Captain Barber looked better in his black velvet smoking-cap than the one he was wearing he was almost on the point of exceeding his duties. He took the mate into his confidence the next day, and asked him what he thought of it. Fraser said that it was evidently in the blood, and, being pressed with some heat for an explanation, said that he meant Captain Barber’s blood. “It’s bad, any way I look at it,” said Flower; “it may bring matters between me and Elizabeth to a head, or it may end in my uncle marrying the woman.” “Very likely both,” said Fraser, cheerfully. “Is this Mrs. Church good-looking?” “I can hardly say,” said Flower, pondering. “Well, good-looking enough for you to feel inclined to take any notice of her?” asked the mate. “When you can talk seriously,” said the skipper, in great wrath, “I’ll be pleased to answer you. Just at present I don’t feel in the sort of temper to be made fun of.” He walked off in dudgeon, and, until they were on their way to London again, treated the mate with marked coldness. Then the necessity of talking to somebody about his own troubles and his uncle’s idiocy put the two men on their old footing. In the quietness of the cabin, over a satisfying pipe, he planned out in a kindly and generous spirit careers for both the ladies he was not going to marry. The only thing that was wanted to complete their happiness, and his, was that they should fall in with the measures proposed. CHAPTER IV.