The Admiral burst out of his house. For once he took no notice of the Eyesore. The cat, however, did arrest his attention. Sempronius, scenting an enemy, was blinking at him out of one eye. Sempronius’ attitude towards the Admiral was one of armed neutrality. He knew Sir Peter bore him no good-will, but he also knew Sir Peter dare not touch him. Wherefore, although he kept a wary look-out, even the Admiral’s threatening gesture was not enough to make him stir from his sunny corner. Sir Peter came to Marjolaine. "He’s sitting there, watching the Eyesore like a tiger. Shows cats have no sense. ’Pears to think the Eyesore’s going to catch a fish! Ha! Never caught a fish in his born days!" He took both Marjolaine’s hands in his. "Well, Missie; what can I do for you?" "Talk to me," said Marjolaine. Sir Peter was flattered and delighted. Their little Missie was coming to life again. "Ah!—tell ye what," he said, swinging her hands, "If we had that fiddler here, we might practise the hornpipe!" He whistled gaily and tried to force her into the step. "No, no!" she cried, breaking away from him; and then, more gently, "No: not to-day!" The Admiral looked at her anxiously out of his one eye. "Oh?" said he, sympathetically, "In the doldrums?" "Sir Peter," she cried, impulsively, "was you ever broken-hearted?" "Lord bless your pretty eyes, yes! Every time I left port." "Ah! but did the world seem like an empty husk? and did you want to sit down and cry your eyes out?" This was much worse than the Admiral had anticipated. He must try to make her laugh. "Well, ye see, I could only have cried one out, was it ever-so!" "Then what did you do? How did you cure yourself?" "Why, with a jorum of rum, to be sure!" Marjolaine was disappointed. "Oh!—I can’t do that!" Sir Peter came closer. "What? Are you broken-hearted?" Good heavens! What had she been saying? Had she given away her precious secret? "Certainly not!" she answered, with flaming cheeks. "Of course not. It’s nothing. Only somebody—somebody has broken their word." "Look-a-that, now!" cried the Admiral, puzzled. "But I’ll cure you! I’ll tell you a story. Something funny. How I lost my eye—what?" He drew her down beside him on the seat under the elm. "Ye see, it was on board o’ the _Termagant_—" "When you was with Nelson?" asked Marjolaine. "Ay. Battle o’ Copenhagen; year Eighteen-one." Here was a possible opening. At any rate Marjolaine would try. "I suppose you had many officers under you?" she insinuated. "Hundreds!" cried Sir Peter, enthusiastically; and then, feeling he had conveyed an exaggerated impression, "well—when I say hundreds—!" his memory awoke. "Ah! I was somebody, then!—But this infernal government—!" Marjolaine laid her hand soothingly on his arm. "I suppose some of them were quite young?" she said, with splendidly assumed indifference. Every woman is a born actress.