Now Captain Bradshaw was just as anxious to have a talk with Frank upon this subject, as Frank was himself. For years this marriage between his nephew and niece had been his pet project. He had so thoroughly settled it in his own mind, that he believed they were equally agreed, and that although no actual love-making might have taken place, it was a sort of tacit engagement. He had often during Frank’s absence joked Alice about him, and the girl’s rising colour and evasive answers more than ever confirmed him in his opinion. Since Frank’s return, however, things had not gone quite as he had anticipated. It was not that he doubted in the least that all was right, for he was a good deal accustomed to have his own way, and had beside an old-fashioned idea that in these matters young people should do as their elders recommend. Still Frank was not so attentive as he ought to have been under the circumstances, and it was Captain Bradshaw’s opinion that now his nephew had had his fling, the sooner he settled down and married Alice Heathcote the better. He had therefore quite made up his mind to intimate his wishes to him upon the first opportunity. “I hardly know what you mean, Frank. If I were a young man in your place, I should think that it would be only right and proper, under the circumstances, that she should take a good deal of interest in what I did.” “What do you mean, uncle, by ‘under the circumstances?’” Frank asked, shortly. “Mean, Frank? Damme, I mean, of course, in the relation in which you stand to each other.” “I am your nephew, uncle Harry, and Alice is your niece; but I imagine that the relationship between us is something very slight.” “Pooh! nonsense, man!” Captain Bradshaw said, irritably; “you know what I mean; but I will put it plainly for you, if you like. I think it natural that Alice should feel some interest in your goings-on, considering that you are some day going to be man and wife.” “Man and wife, uncle? What are you thinking about? Alice and I have about as much idea of marrying each other as we have of flying.” “Damme, sir!” Captain Bradshaw commenced, fiercely; “but no, I will not get angry;” and then he continued, in a tone of concentrated rage, which showed far more than any gesticulation could have done, how angry he was: “Do you mean to tell me, seriously, Frank Maynard, that you do not intend to marry your cousin, Alice Heathcote?” “Most distinctly and clearly, uncle, I do not. I like Alice exceedingly. I love her almost as a sister. She is a dear, good girl; but I have not, and never had, the slightest intention of marrying her.” Captain Bradshaw sat down. He could not trust himself to speak for some time; he knew how passionate he was, and that he should be sure to say something which he would afterwards wish unsaid. At last, after a great struggle with himself, he said, quietly;—