“Oh, well, just a drop of coffee,” said the young man, for Isabel had quickly filled a cup, and was holding it out to him. “Thanks, Miss Elthorne; but really I did not mean—”
“You are on the vicar’s cob?” said Mr Elthorne quickly, as he noted his daughter’s heightened colour, and the young man’s hesitation and evident pleasure.
“Try some of this game pie, Beck,” cried Alison, pushing over a plate. “Aunt Anne finished the kidneys.”
“Ally, my dear.”
“Oh, thanks,” said the visitor, taking the plate as he settled himself at the table. “Cob, sir? Oh, no; a friend sent me over one of his horses. I have had it these three days.”
A curious look of trouble crossed Isabel’s countenance, and she sat watching the speaker as he went on: “That’s the worst of being ashore. Everyone is so kind. I am always spoiled, and it takes me a month to get over it when I get back to my ship.”
“And when do you go?” said Mr Elthorne.
“This day fortnight, sir.”
“For six months, isn’t it?”
“There is no certainty, sir, I’m sorry to say. We may be ordered on to Japan afterward.”