"And so Ethel has told you all?" resumed Mr. Basset, cracking another walnut of the fruit which had followed a luxurious dinner. "Yes, sir, and in doing so has wrung the soul within me." "Oh, Morley," said Ethel, placing her ungloved hand kindly upon his, "do not talk so mournfully." "Aye, aye, lad," said Mr. Basset, thinking most of himself, as, with his head on one side, one eye closed, and the other admiring the ruby colour of his wine as it shone between him and the flushed sky, "at my age, though I am not very old, but have many settled habits, it is hard to leave one's native country, and to set out with these tender girls on a long, rough voyage; but needs must--you know the rest." "And so Ethel and I meet again, only to be separated for ever," exclaimed Morley, while he pressed her hand within his own, and in a tone so mournful that Mr. Basset, who, like every matter-of-fact Englishman, hated scenes, as they worried him, fidgeted in his chair, and said to Ethel: "Where is Rose? Has she not seen Mr. Ashton yet?" "She is with the captain in the conservatory, I think." Morley, who disliked the formality of being termed "Mr. Ashton," glanced at Ethel, and perceived that a blush was burning on her cheek. "You did not tell me that you had a visitor," said he. "We had matters of greater moment to think of, Morley, had we not?" asked Ethel, anxiously. "Besides, the captain is rather more than a visitor," observed Mr. Basset, laughing. "More?" said Ashton, with a sickly smile. "He has spent some few weeks with us," said Ethel. "Weeks, Ethel?" exclaimed Mr. Basset. "Why, girl, they have run to months now. He is the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends--old Tom Hawkshaw, of Lincoln's Inn--and has seen a great deal of the world. He is a fine, free, rattling fellow, whom I am sure you will like; at least, I hope so, as he proposes to follow, perhaps to go with, us to the Mauritius." Morley felt his heart sink, he knew not why, at these words--or at what they imported. "Has there been a game playing here of which I have been kept in ignorance?" thought he. There was an instinctive fear or jealousy in his mind, and he dared scarcely to look at Ethel. When he did so, there was a painful blush upon her cheek. "Do not speak of the Mauritius, my dear sir," said he, in an agitated tone. "I cannot conceive or realise the idea of your all being anywhere but here--here at dear old Laurel Lodge." "Never mind--time soothes all things. Fill your glass, Morley. The Mauritius possesses a splendid climate, though it is rather hot from November to April; and there the best of wine can be had almost duty free. Once we are there, who can say, but I may find you a snug appointment, my boy, and Ethel shall write to acquaint you of it."