The dear lad disclaimed weariness. But Captain Salt advanced, sighed, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, Tristram; let us not deceive ourselves. I have done you a wrong, for which you must forgive me. I hoped, by delaying your return and keeping you near me—I hoped that perhaps—" Here he sighed again, and appeared to struggle with an inward grief. "Do not make it hard for me by bearing malice!" he implored, breaking off his explanation.
"I don't quite understand. Are you telling me that you have kept me here unnecessarily?"
"Alas! my boy—I hoped that your affection for me might grow with this opportunity, as mine has grown for you."
Tristram thought that to spend a morning in pacing from one window to another was an odd way of encouraging affection; but he merely answered:
"My dear father, I have a confession to make."
"A confession?"
"One that will not only explain my eagerness to get home, but also will, I trust, soothe your disappointment. The fact is, I am in love."
"Oh! that certainly alters matters. With whom?"
"With Sophia."