“But remember, Mark, none of us know your friend, we have not so much as seen him; and as he was to meet these people, it's all the better they came as acquaintances.”
“That's all very fine,” said he, angrily; “you can be beautifully philosophical about it, all because you have n't to go back to a mess-table and be badgered by all sorts of allusions and references to Maitland's capital story.”
“Here they are, here they are!” cried Alice; and the next moment she was warmly embracing those dear friends to whose failings she was nowise blind, however ardent her late defence of them. Mark, meanwhile, had advanced towards Maitland, and gave him as cordial a welcome as he could command. “My sister Mrs. Trafford, Mr. Maitland,” said he; and Alice gave her hand with a graceful cordiality to the new guest.
“I declare, Mark is afraid that I 'll kiss him,” cried Beck. “Courage, mon ami, I'll not expose you in public.”
“How are you? how are you?” cried the Commodore; “brown, brown, very brown; Indian sun. Lucky if the mischief is only skin-deep.”
“Shake hands, Mark,” said Sally, in a deep masculine voice; “don't bear malice, though I did pitch you out of the boat that day.”
Mark was however, happily, too much engaged with his friend to have heard the speech. He was eagerly listening to Maitland's account of his first meeting with the Grahams.
“My lucky star was in the ascendant; for there I stood,” said Maitland, “in the great square of Bally—Bally—”
“Ballymena,” broke in Beck; “and there's no great square in the place; but you stood in a very dirty stable-yard, in a much greater passion than such a fine gentleman should ever give way to.”
“Calling, 'A horse! a horse! My kingdom for a horse!'”