"I beg your pardon," he said, lifting his hat; "forgive me if I interrupt you, but my business is urgent—most urgent! Perhaps you could kindly inform me if there is a—a gentleman" (the word cost him a manifest struggle to pronounce)—"a gentleman on board of the name of Tourmalin? I have a little matter of business" (here his right hand stole to his breast-pocket) "to transact with him," he explained, with a sinister smile that caused Peter to give suddenly at the knees.
"It's that infernal Alfred!" he thought. "Now I am done for!"
"Why," said Miss Tyrrell, who was clinging affectionately to Peter's arm, "this is Mr. Tourmalin! You can speak to him now—here, if you choose. We have no secrets from one another—have we, Peter?"
"I have lately learnt," said the gloomy man, "that a certain Mr. Tourmalin has stolen from me the affection of one who was all heaven and earth to me!"
"Then it must be another Mr. Tourmalin," said Miss Tyrrell, "not this one; because—surely you do not need to be told that you have no rivalry to fear from him?" she broke off, with a blush of charming embarrassment.
Alfred's scowl distinctly relaxed, and Peter felt that, after all, this unfortunate misunderstanding on Miss Tyrrell's part might prove serviceable to him. Since Sophia, for reasons of her own, refused to assist him, he must accept any other help that offered itself.
"The best proof I can give you of my innocence," he said, "is to mention that I have the honour to be engaged to this lady."
He heard a stifled shriek from behind him as he made this assertion, and the next moment Miss Davenport, who must have come up in time to catch the last words, had burst into the centre of the group.