"A house?"
"'Stonishing echo you keep here.…Yes, miss, a house. My name's Jope—Ben Jope—o' the Vesuvius bomb, bo's'un; but paid off at eight this morning. My friend outside goes by the name of Bill Adams; an' you'll find him livelier than he looks. Everyone does. But I forgot; you ha'n't seen him yet, and he can't come in, havin' to look after the cask."
"The ca—" Miss Elizabeth had almost repeated the word, but managed to check herself.
"You ought to consult someone about it, at your age," said Mr. Jope solicitously. "Yes, the cask. Rum it is, an' a quarter-puncheon. Bill and me clubbed an' bought it off the purser las' night, the chaplain havin' advised us not to waste good prize-money ashore but invest it in something we really wanted. But I don't know if you've ever noticed how often one thing leads to another. You can't go drinkin' out a quarter-puncheon o' rum in the high road, not very well. So the next thing is, we want a house."
"But," said the girl, "who ever heard of a house to let hereabouts!"
Mr. Jope's face fell.
"Ain't there none? An' it seemed so retired, too, an' handy near Plymouth."
"There's not a house to let in St. Dilp parish, unless it be the Rectory."
Mr. Jope's face brightened.
"Then we'll take the Rectory," he said. "Where is it?"