"I'm sure you're very kind," began the old sailor hesitatingly. He fumbled at his necktie for a moment with unsteady, weather-beaten hands. "But I shouldn't like to trespass on your time. I take it you're here for pleasure?" Lord Seahampton smiled. "Yes, I'm here for pleasure; that's what I'm in the world for." Still Captain Bontnor hesitated. "You might meet some of your friends," he began tentatively, "in the streets, you know." He paused and looked down at his own hands; he turned one palm up, showing the faint tattoo on the wrist. "I'm only a rough seafaring man," he went on. "They might think it strange--might wonder whom you had picked up." The spotless collar seemed to be very uncomfortable. "I've always made a practice," mumbled Lord Seahampton, rather incoherently, "of letting my friends think what they damned well please. May I ask your name?" "Bontnor's my name. Captain Bontnor, at your service." "My name's Seahampton." Captain Bontnor turned and looked at him. "Yes, I'm Lord Seahampton." "Oh!" ejaculated Captain Bontnor, under his breath. His social facilities did not quite rise to an occasion like this. "As soon as you've finished," went on his companion rather hurriedly, "we'll go out and look up these steamer people. Miss Challoner will be anxious for you to get there as soon as you can." "Yes, yes!" The captain laid aside his napkin and began to show signs of getting flurried again. "Her name is Eve," he said, in the hurried way which was rather pathetic. "Now, I wonder what I should call her. Poor young thing! if she's distressed about her father's death--which is only natural, I'm sure--it would sound a bit chilly like to call her Miss Challoner. What do you think, Mr.--eh--er--Lord--sir?" "Well, I think I should call her Eve--it's a pretty name--and take her by the hand, and--yes, I think I'd kiss her. Especially if she was a nice-looking girl," he added for his own personal edification as he preceded his companion into the hall. He was fumbling in the tail pocket of his short tweed coat as he went. In the hall he turned. "Got anything to smoke?" he asked, in his most abrupt manner, as if the cut of his collar did not allow of verbosity. The old man shyly produced some cigars in a leather case, which had never been of great value, even in the far-off days of its youth. "I hardly like to offer them to you," he said slowly. "T--they're not expensive, and I couldn't explain to the young woman what I wanted." "Rather like the look of them," said Lord Seahampton, taking one and cutting the end off with a certain show of eagerness. This young man's reputation for personal bravery was a known quantity on the hunting-field. "Old sailors," he continued, "generally know good tobacco."