'I mean earlier--as a midshipman,' she stammered. 'You must have been to many places, and--and--I thought the life of a midshipman was nothing but parties and balls, along with a great deal of mischief. That is what one reads, you know, about the young gentlemen--always tumbling into trouble, and always getting happily out of it, and always amusing themselves just as much as they amuse others.' This was not so bad. Nan's face had brightened; she regarded him with her clear eyes. 'You are thinking of Captain Marryat,' said he, laughing. 'But times have changed sadly for the middy since then. It isn't all beer and skittles now. Nowadays, the poor chap can scarcely call his soul his own; and if he is going in for his Three Ones----' 'I beg your pardon; what is that?' she said, with a grave interest. 'Trifling little things,' said he, jocosely. 'Only first-class certificates in gunnery, seamanship, and mathematics; then, to finish up with, the unhappy youth has to look forward to an interview or two with the hydrographer, who isn't at all a gentleman to be made a fool of.' How was it that she knew instinctively that this young officer had got his Three Ones--nay, that he had carried them off easily, triumphantly? What was there in his manner, or the shape of his forehead, or his expression, that rendered her perfectly certain that he had nothing to fear from all the hydrographers ever born? 'Why, even in my time, I can remember, when the middy was allowed a good deal more law,' he continued; and now he had sat down beside her, and her eyes met his quite frankly. 'I remember a fearful scene at Cherbourg, at a ball there; that was when the fleet went over, and there was a great round of festivities. Well, this ball, I think, was given by the Mayor--I am not quite sure; but, at all events, the midshipmites were invited with the rest, and those who could get leave went of course. Well, we had the run of the refreshment-room, and we used it. There was far too much champagne, and all our seniors were in the ball-room,--the Duke of Somerset, and the whole of them,--so we set to work to chaff the waiters in unknown tongues. Anything more patient or friendly than the conduct of these amiable creatures I never saw. They entirely entered into the spirit of the thing, and grinned and nodded in high glee when we inquired about their mothers and sisters--in English, of course; and then we tried bad French on them, and Welsh, with a touch of Lancashire thrown in; and then they grinned all the more, and shrugged their shoulders. My chum Greville was the worst, I think; he kept asking for all sorts of ridiculous things, and was very angry when he couldn't get them. "_Avez-vous du vin de Cockalorum_?" he asked of one fellow: of course Greville spoke real true-blue English-French. "_Coque-a-lorrrrme_?" said the waiter. "_Je crois que non, Monsieur----._" "_Pourquoi n'avez vous pas du vin de Cockalorum_?" said Greville, with great indignation.