The dinner passed off without any mishap, as Thompson had seen enough life to keep him all right at table, while his natural gallantry and devotion to the fair sex caused him to show all proper attention to the dark-eyed young lady seated by his side. When the ladies had withdrawn, his kind host lit a cigar, having in vain tried to induce his guest to do the same, and after a little chat asked him what he thought of the young lady.
"She's a real fine lady, but I'm afraid of her."
"Nonsense, Thompson. Why?"
"Well, she's got a sort of a half-laughing sort of way, as much as to say she thinks I'm a poor sort of a imitation of a reg'ler warrant-officer, and she sees through it."
"Chut, chut; let us join the ladies."
Jerry entered the drawing-room upon tip-toe, as the dark-eyed one was playing the piano, and having taken his seat on the chair furthest from the instrument, fixed his eyes upon her, and watched the motion of her fingers in a curiously anxious manner. When she had finished she turned to him and exclaimed, "Can you sing, Mr. Thompson?"
"Me, miss?"
"Surely you can. Don't you know one song?"
"No, miss. Not what you'd call songs."
"Not a sea-song?"