“There is a way to fortune for honest men,” answered the Jesuit, “that may be trodden now with every appearance of safety, and without the loss of self-esteem. It leads, in my opinion, directly to success, and keeps the straight, unswerving path of honour all the time. ‘The Bashful Maid,’ Sir George, used to lay her course faithfully by the compass, and I have often thought what a good example that inanimate figure-head showed to those who controlled her movements. But I must ask Lady Hamilton’s pardon,” he added, with mock gravity, “for thus mentioning her most formidable rival in her presence. If you can call to mind, madame, her resolute front, her coal-black hair, her glaring eyes, her complexion of rich vermilion, mantling even to the tip of her nose, and the devotion paid to her charms by captain as well as crew, you must despair of equalling her in Sir George’s eyes, and can never know a moment’s peace again.” Slap-Jack, clearing the table with much ceremony, could scarcely refrain from giving audible expression to his delight. Lady Hamilton laughed. “As you have chosen such a subject of conversation,” said she, “it is time for me to retire. After you have done justice to the charms of ‘The Bashful Maid,’ whom, when she was not too lively, I admired as much as any one, and have exhausted your Musketeer’s reminiscences, you will find _me_, and, what is more to the purpose, a dish of hot coffee, in the little room at the end of the gallery. Till then, _Sans adieu_!” And her ladyship walked out, laying her hand on Sir George’s shoulder to prevent his rising while she passed, with an affectionate gesture that was in itself a caress. The Jesuit gazed after her as she disappeared, and, resuming his place at the table, felt that whatever difficulties he had already experienced, the worst part of his task was now to come. CHAPTER XLIV “BOX IT ABOUT” When the door had closed on his wife, Sir George settled himself comfortably in his chair, filled a bumper from the claret jug, and, passing it to Florian, proposed the accustomed toast, drank at many hundred tables in merry England about the same hour. “Church and King!” said the baronet, and quaffed off a goodly draught, as if he relished the liquor no less than the pledge. It gave the Jesuit an opening, and, like a skilful fencer, he availed himself of it at once. “The _true_ Church,” said he, wetting his lips with wine, “and the _true_ King.” Sir George laughed, and looked round the hall. “Ashore,” he observed, “I respect every man’s opinions, though nobody has a right to think differently from the skipper afloat; but let me tell you, my friend, such sentiments as your qualification implies had better be kept to yourself. They might shorten your visit to Hamilton, and even cause your journey to end at Traitor’s Gate in the Tower of London.”