“You’re a devilish good fellow, Bab!” said the Captain gratefully.
“I’m not. Don’t choose to have it said of me that I’m the sort of queer fish who leaves his friends in the lurch. Now perhaps you’ll tell me what you’ve been doing up at the Manor? For one who has come from attending a deathbed you’ve a mighty cheerful appearance.”
“I haven’t. At least, the Squire’s alive still. I’ve come from a wedding!”
Mr. Babbacombe sat up with a jerk. “You’ve come from——Whose wedding?” he demanded uneasily.
“My own!”
“Oh, my God!” ejaculated Mr. Babbacombe. “Now I know you’re touched in your upper works!”
“Oh, no, I’m not!” John said, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards.
Mr. Babbacombe saw it, and groaned. “If you think that is the news I’ll carry to your mother, you’re mightily mistaken!” he declared. “It’s the girl you mentioned, I collect? Miss Stornaway? So that’s why you’re so devilish anxious to keep Henry Stornaway’s name clean! Lord, what made you do such a thing, you crazy gudgeon?”
“I fell in love with her the instant I saw her,” replied John, with a simplicity that defied disbelief. He smiled, as Mr. Babbacombe’s jaw dropped. “Did you think I was indulging in a fit of quixotry? Oh, no! She is—well, never mind that! You will meet her presently, and then you will understand. I am the happiest man on earth!”
“In that case, dear boy,” said Mr. Babbacombe, rising nobly to the occasion, “nothing for it but to drink your health!”