Manister smiled across his glass and drained it in silence. There was a glitter in his young eyes which made it difficult for the captain to drop the subject finally. Manister had been drinking freely, without becoming flushed, which is another sign of trouble. The captain could not help saying confidentially:
"You know, Harry, your mother was so keen for you to marry one of old Acklam's daughters. That's what frightened her. But it is to come off some day, isn't it?"
"Can't say," said Lord Manister.
"It ought to, Harry. I like to see a young fellow with your position marry properly, and settle down. I don't know which of the Garths it is, but I've always heard one of 'em was the girl you liked."
"Suppose the girl you like won't marry you?" Manister exclaimed, with a sudden change of manner, and in the tone of one consulting an authority.
"Well, there's an end on't."
"Ah, but suppose she can't make up her mind?"
"You might give her a month—though I wouldn't."
"Suppose a month is not enough for her?"
The captain stared; his bronzed forehead became barred with furrows; his eyes turned stony with indignation.