Barron wrung his hand hard and smiled.
“How long will it be, my dear sir, before your old taste for the sea returns? Why, you’ll be running across before three months are past. Really I should not be surprised if you announced that you meant to come with us.”
“Hah! Why not?” cried Sir Mark eagerly. “No, no; that would not do. But I certainly will run over before long.”
“Do, sir,” cried Barron eagerly.
“Barbadoes, Bahamas, Bermuda,” cried Sir Mark. “Why, I could take a trip anywhere among the islands. It’s all familiar ground to me. But poor Myra—a month; so soon. I don’t feel as if I am doing right, Barron; but there, it is fate.”
“Yes, sir, it is fate.”