"Middies?" cried the Admiral, with magnificent contempt. "Lord love ye, I took no notice o’ them! Passel o’ powder-monkeys!" Then he added with a touch of tender recollection, "Not but what Jack Sayle—" "Jack what?" said Marjolaine quickly, as if she had not heard. "Sayle. Jack Sayle. You know. Young feller I presented to your lady-mother a week ago. Time she swooned—" "Oh, yes." "Gobblessmysoul! I was startled! I thought—" The Admiral must not be allowed to wander from the only topic that mattered. Marjolaine interrupted him. "Was he on your ship?" "What, Jack Sayle? Ay, was he. And a fine young feller, too. Of course you was much too agitated to notice him last Saturday. Gad! I wonder he has n’t been to see me all the week. Promised he would. Said he ’d come last Monday." "Did he?" cried Marjory. So he had broken his word in two places! "He did. There! He’s only on leave, and he has heavy social duties. Only son of Lord Otford, y’ know." "Lord Otford!" Marjolaine repeated, amazed. The name and the title somehow impressed her with a sense of vague fear. "Ay, ay," the unconscious Admiral proceeded garrulously. "My old friend. Otford’s selfish about him. Ye see, the boy ’ll come into a great estate. Half a county. And the old man’s anxious about his marriage." "Whose marriage?" asked Marjory, almost voicelessly. "Why, Jack’s, to be sure!—Lord!—they marry ’em now before they ’re out of their swaddling clothes. Otford’s in a hurry to secure the succession—" He stopped abruptly. This was really not a subject to discuss with a young girl. "Hum!—what I was about to say—er—the Honourable Caroline Thring—!" "Caroline Thring"—Marjolaine repeated the name to herself. It was a name to remember. "Ay—daughter and sole heiress of Lord Wendover. Not my sort. Goes about doing good—like the party last Saturday. But the two estates ’ll cover the county. It’s an undoubted match—" Marjolaine had heard all she wanted—and more. She felt she would break down if the Admiral went on. She looked all around the Walk for help; for some excuse to break off the conversation. There was only Sempronius. "I think—" she just gave herself time to make up her mind as to what she could think—"I think I saw Sempronius stirring!" Sir Peter jumped up. "Damn that cat!" he cried—"Beg pardon!—I’ll—" But the golden-haired Sempronius was sound asleep with his bushy tail over his nose. Whether the Eyesore was shocked by the Admiral’s bad language—which seems unlikely—or whether he was moved by his usual thirst, he dropped his fishing-rod, and vanished round the corner. The Admiral hurried back.