Tom Beck did not go on, but stood examining his right hand, and frowning.
“What’s the matter with your hand?”
“Oh, nothing. Miss Lydon’s horse gave it a nip the other day.”
“Humph! Vicious brute. Those girls are more like rough riders than ladies.”
Beck looked at him curiously, while the young doctor flushed under the scrutiny, and said hastily:
“Well, boy, what is it? Isabel?”
“Yes,” cried Beck, snatching at the words. “You see I may be gone for two years, and I wanted—and I thought that—”
“Thought what? Is she very hard to please?”
“Heaven bless her! no,” cried the young sailor eagerly. “There, I can speak to you, Neil. You have always been to me like a big brother. And you know that I care for her.”
“Well, I suppose I have thought so, my lad. What’s the matter?”