The old man turned it about with the yellow corners of his lips curled down in disgust. "Girl work that for you?" he said, with quite a snarl. "No! Mother," said Geoffrey, abruptly. "Ho!" said the old gentleman, picking and turning over one cigar after another, and then replacing it. "There, take your case, boy; I can't smoke your town-made trash." "Town-made trash, eh?" said Geoffrey, laughing. "Why, they're as good as your Trichinopolies." "Rubbish!" said the old fellow. "Real Havanas, given me by old Sir Harry. Dunton." "Not Harry Dunton, Governor of Ginjaica?" "Yes! Do you know him?" "Did once," said the old fellow, with asperity. "Here, boy, I'll have one. Now go and see about your lodgings; and come back to me," he added imperatively. Geoffrey stood smiling at him for a few moments. "I say, old gentleman," he said, "how many coolies used you to have under you in the East?" "Over a thousand, sir," said the old gentleman, irascibly. "I thought so," said Geoffrey, and he turned on his heels, and walked up to the clematis-covered porch that shaded the open door. "I'd give some thousands to be as young and strong, and--and yes, confound him!--as impudent as that fellow. Hang him! he hasn't a bit of veneration in him," muttered the old gentleman, entering the summer-house, and striking a match for his cheroot. "He'll just be right for them, as they've lost the parson. Hang 'em, how I do hate parsons!" He took a few pulls at his cheroot, and emitted cloud after cloud of smoke, as he stood in the shade of the summer-house, looking at Geoffrey's back. "He's a good-looking fellow, too, and--phew!" he added, with a long-drawn whistle, "what a fool I am. There's Madge, of course, and at the door first thing." "If I am any thing of a judge, you are a very pretty girl," said Geoffrey to himself, as his summons was answered by a merry-looking brunette, in a very simple morning dress and print apron, a book in one hand, a feather dusting-brush in the other. Her rather wilful hair, of a crisp, dark brown, had evidently been touched by the sea-breeze, for a waving strand was brushed hastily back as the girl saw the visitor; and the same, or other breezes, had given a rich tone to her complexion, which was heightened by the flush which came to her cheeks, as she hastily threw brush and book on to a chair, and gave a tug at the string of her apron, which absolutely refused to come off. "Can I speak to Mrs Mullion?" said Geoffrey, unable to repress a smile at the girl's vanity and confusion. "Oh! yes. Please will you step in?" "Who's that, Madge?" cried a voice from somewhere at the back. "If it's Aunt Borlase, we don't want any fish to-day, and tell her--"