So Fitz was pacified by the lady's gentler manner, and consented to remain. He made good use of his time, pleading Luke's cause, explaining his bad fortune, and modestly disclaiming any credit to himself for having succeeded where his brother failed. But all the while the boy was restless, eager to get away and run upstairs to Luke, who he felt sure was living years in every moment, as children do in those griefs which we take upon ourselves to call childish. At last he rose. "May I go now?" he asked. "Yes, if you like. But do not bring Luke to me until he is prepared to apologise for his ingratitude and rudeness." "What a dear boy he is!" ejaculated Mrs. Ingham-Baker almost before the door was closed. "So upright and honest and straightforward." "Yes," answered Mrs. Harrington, with a sigh of anger. "He will be a fine man," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker. "I shall die quite happy if my Agatha marries such a man as Henry will be." Mrs. Harrington glanced at her voluminous friend rather critically. "You do not look like dying yet," she said. Mrs. Ingham-Baker put her head on one side and looked resigned. "One never knows," she answered. "It is a great responsibility, Marian, to have a daughter." "I should imagine, from what I have seen of Agatha, that the child is quite capable of taking care of herself." "Yes," answered the fond mother, "she is intelligent. But a girl is so helpless in the world, and when I am gone I should feel happier if I knew that my child had a good husband, such as Fitz, to take care of her." Neither of these ladies being of the modern school of feminine learning, the vague theology underlying this remark was allowed to pass unnoticed. Mrs. Harrington drummed with her thin wrinkled fingers on the arm of her chair, and waited with a queer anticipatory little smile for her friend to proceed. "But, of course," continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, blundering into the little feminine snare, "a naval man can scarcely marry. They are always so badly off. I suppose poor Fitz will not be able to support a wife until he is quite middle-aged." "That remains to be seen," said Mrs. Harrington, with a gleam in her hard grey eyes, and Mrs. Ingham-Baker pricked her finger. "I am sure," said the latter lady unctuously, when she had had time to think it out, "I am sure I should be content for her to live very quietly if I only knew that she had married a good man. I always say that riches do not make happiness." "Yes, a number of people say that," answered Mrs. Harrington, and at the same moment Fitz burst into the room. "Aunt Marian," he cried, "he has gone!" "Who has gone?" asked the lady of the house coldly. "Please close the door." "Luke! He has gone! He went straight out of the house, and the butler does not know where he went to! It is all your fault, Aunt Marian; you had no right to speak to him like that! You know you hadn't. I am going to look for him."