“So I certainly should; but, most unfortunately, I have an objection to tell fibs on a Sunday.” “You are quite right; we should rest from our usual employments one day-ha! ha! and so go at it fresher to-morrow--haw! ho! Come, Lucy, don't you be so exclusive. Eve Dodd is a merry girl. She comes and amuses me when you are not here, and David, by all accounts, is a fine young fellow, and as modest as a girl of fifteen; they will make me laugh, especially Eve, and it would be hard at my age, I think, if I might not ask whom I like--to tea.” “So it would,” put in Lucy, hastily; she added, coaxing, “it shall have its own way--it shall have what makes it laugh.” Long before eight o'clock the Fountains had forgotten that they had invited the Dodds. Not so Eve. She was all in a flutter, and hesitated between two dresses, and by some blessed inspiration decided for the plainest; but her principal anxiety was, not about herself, but about David's deportment before the Queen of Fashion, for such report proclaimed Miss Fountain. “And those fine ladies are so satirical,” said Eve to herself; “but I will lecture him going along.” Dinner time, and, by consequence, tea time, came earlier in those days; so, about eight o'clock, a tall, square-shouldered young fellow was walking in the moonlight toward Font Abbey, Eve holding his hand, and tripping by his side, and lecturing him on deportment very gravely while dancing around him and pulling him all manner of ways, like your solid tune with your gamboling accompaniment, a combination now in vogue. All of a sudden, without with your leave or by your leave, the said David caught this light fantastic object up in his arms, and carried it on one shoulder. On this she gave a little squeak; then, without a moment's interval, continued her lecture as if nothing had happened. She looked down from her perch like a hen from a ladder, and laid down the law to David with seriousness and asperity. “And just please to remember that they are people a long way above us--at least above what we are now, since father fell into trouble; so don't you make too free; and Miss Fountain is the finest of all the fine ladies in the county.” “Then I am sorry we are going.” “No, you are not; she is a beautiful girl.” “That alters the case.” “No, it does not. Don't chatter so, David, interrupting forever, but listen and mind what I say, or I'll never take you anywhere again.” “Are you sure you are taking me now?” asked David, dryly. “Why not, Mr. David?” retorted Eve, from his shoulder. “Didn't I hear you tell how you took the _Combermere_ out of harbor, and how you brought her into port; she didn't take you out and bring you home, eh?” “Had me there, though.” “Yes; and, what is more, you are not skipper of the _Combermere_ yet, and never will be; but I am skipper of you.” “Ashore--not a doubt of it,” said David, with cool indifference. He despised terrestrial distinction, courting only such as was marine.