“Come in, by all means,—the very man I wanted to see,” said Maitland, as he opened the door, and gave him a cordial shake-hands. “I was afraid you were going without seeing me, Commodore; and, early as it was, I got up and was dressing in hope to catch you.”
“That I call hearty,—downright hearty,—Maitland.”
Maitland actually started at this familiar mention of him by one whom he had never met till a few days before.
“Rather a rare event in your life to be up at this hour, I 'll be sworn,—except when you have n't been to bed, eh?” And he laughed heartily at what he fancied was a most witty conceit. “You see we 're all off! We 've had springs on our cables these last twenty-four hours, with this frolicsome old woman, who would insist on being back for her birthday; but she 's rich, Maitland, immensely rich, and we all worship her!”
Maitland gave a faint shrug of the shoulders, as though he deplored the degeneracy, but couldn't help it.
“Yes, yes; I 'm coming,” cried the Commodore, shouting from the open window to his daughters beneath. “The girls are impatient; they want to be at Lesliesford when the others are crossing. There's a fresh on the river, and it 's better to get some stout fellows to guide the carriages through the water. I wanted greatly to have five minutes alone with you,—five would do; half of it, perhaps, between men of the world, as we are. You know about what.”
“I suspect I do,” said Maitland, quietly.
“I saw, too,” resumed Graham, “that you wished to have no talk about it here, amongst all these gossiping people. Was n't I right?”
“Perfectly right; you appreciated me thoroughly.”
“What I said was this,—Maitland knows the world well. He 'll wait till he has his opportunity of talking the matter over with myself. He 'll say, 'Graham and I will understand one another at once.' One minute; only one,” screamed he out from the window. “Could n't you come down and just say a word or two to them? They 'd like it so much.”