A week elapsed before Vandemar, who was in the smoking room, espied the Admiral’s genial face as he alighted from a carriage. In a moment Vandemar was with him and, arm in arm, they went back to the smoking room, where cigars were lighted.
“What is the matter?” asked Vandemar. “I hope your daughter is not sick. She is not with you. What caused your delay?”
The Admiral laughed immoderately; finally he ejaculated: “Bless my soul! A most re-mark-a-ble affair.”
“Tell me all about it,” cried Vandemar. “Madame Della Coscia is out driving with Mr. and Mrs. De Vinne and I am lonesome.”
“I hardly know where to begin,” said the Admiral, and again he laughed heartily.
“Why not at the beginning?” queried Vandemar.
“That’s not a bad idea,” said the Admiral. “Well, you know Doctor John Frobisher, who was surgeon on the Osprey?”
“Remember Jack Frobisher?” broke in Vandemar. “Of course I do! A mighty good fellow. Hard to get acquainted with, though. Bashful or diffident, I don’t know which.”
“You haven’t got the right word,” said the Admiral. “He was jealous.”
“Jealous!” cried Vandemar. “Of whom?”