The captain's quick, black eyes rested for a moment upon her and Mrs. Dodson's physiognomies while the introduction was being made; as quickly passed over Mr. and Mrs. Giles' and the vicar's, but rested a little longer when Mr. Leicester's turn came, and grew more searching in their expression as they met the calm regard of the young man.
But the keenness of the scrutiny—for it was nothing more nor less—was tempered by a smile. Captain Murpoint possessed the rare art of smiling well.
"I beg that you will not delay the meal, nor change a single course. I am a case-hardened traveler, and too used to short fare to think anything of the loss of soup and fish. Indeed, my dear madam, if you will pardon me for a few moments I will exchange these dusty and really disgraceful garments for something more orthodox and suitable."
Mrs. Mildmay bowed graciously, and turned to a footman.
"I have brought my man with me—a faithful fellow, who has been my companion in fair weather and foul all over the globe," said the captain, moving toward the door. "Pray, let me implore you not to spoil your dinner."
So saying, he passed through the doorway, outside which, eying the elegant room with a satisfied and comprehensive gaze, stood the grim-faced, sharp-eyed "faithful fellow," the captain's servant.
Violet had not spoken a single word save those she had addressed to the captain. A sweet, solemn gravity had settled upon her fair, young face, brought there by the memories of her father, which this stranger's arrival had called up.
She sighed when his soft, pleasing voice had died away, and turned almost with a start to her neighbor, Mr. Leicester.
"How strange—is it not?" she said.