“So far orthodox, that it is very good; and what is orthodox is good,” replied the divine, with good-humour.
“The Asia has made the signal for ‘a strange sail—suspicious,’” said the second-mate to Captain Drawlock, putting his head into the cabin.
“Very well, Mr Jones, keep a glass upon the commodore.”
“Mrs Ferguson, will you take some of this tart? Damascene, I believe,” said the first-mate.
“If you please, Mr Mathews.—Did not Mr Jones say suspicious?—What does that imply?”
“Imply, madam; why that he don’t like the cut of her jib!”
“And pray what does that mean?”
“Mean, madam; why, that for all he knows to the contrary, she may be a French frigate.”
“A French frigate! a French frigate! O dear! O dear!” cried two or three ladies at a breath.
“Mr Mathews,” said Captain Drawlock, “I am really surprised at your indiscretion. You have alarmed the ladies. A suspicious sail, Mrs Ferguson, merely implies—in fact, that they do not know what she is.”