The man had a blue jersey, a cap, and an evidently sailor air, or rather that of the coasting, lower stamp of seaman; but he was tall, rather handsome, and younger-looking than would have been expected of Cea’s father. He looked somewhat taken aback by the appearance of a gentleman, but he stood his ground.
‘So I understand that you have been making demands upon Miss Morton,’ Lord Northmoor began.
‘Well, sir, my lord, a father has his feelings.
There is a situation offered me in Canada, and I intend to take the little girl with me.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ And there was a pause.
‘Or if the lady has taken a fancy to her, I’d not baulk her for a sum down of twenty or five-and-twenty, once for all.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ again; then ‘What do you say is the child’s name?’
‘Jones, my lord.’
‘Her Christian name, I mean?’
He scratched his head. ‘Cissy, my lord—Celia—Cecilia. Blest if I’m sure!’ as he watched the expression of the questioner. ‘You see, the women has such fine names, and she was always called Baby when her poor mother was alive.’