“But it was of great moment to us, sir,” Judith said. “I am afraid we thanked you rather curtly, and you may have thought us very uncivil.”
He raised his eyes to her face, and said earnestly: “No, indeed not, ma’am. I was happy to be of service; it was nothing to me: I might command a lodging elsewhere. I beg you won’t think of it again.”
He would have passed on, and seeing him so anxious to be gone Miss Taverner made no further effort to detain him. But Peregrine was less perceptive, and still barred the way. “Well, I’m glad to have met you again, sir. Say what you will, I am in your debt. My name is Taverner—Peregrine Taverner. This is my sister, as perhaps you know.”
The gentleman hesitated for an instant. Then he said in rather a low voice: “I did know. That is to say, I heard your name mentioned.”
“Ay, did you so? I daresay you might. But we did not hear yours, sir,” said Peregrine, laughing.
“No, I was unwilling to—I did not wish to thrust myself upon your notice,” said the other. A smile crept into his eyes; he said a little ruefully: “My name is also Taverner.”
“Good God!” cried Peregrine in great astonishment. “You don’t mean—you are not related to us, are you?”
“I am afraid I am,” said Mr. Taverner. “My father is Admiral Taverner.”
“Well, by all that’s famous!” exclaimed Peregrine. “I never knew he had a son!”
Judith had listened with mixed feelings. She was amazed, at once delighted to find that she had so unexpectedly amiable a relative, and sorry that he should be the son of a man her father had mistrusted so wholeheartedly. His modesty, the delicacy with which he had refrained from instantly making himself known to them, his manners, which were extremely engaging, outweighed the rest. She held her hand out to him, saying in a friendly way: “Then we are cousins, and should know each other better.”