“O dear, dear Mr. Richards, I’m so happy; I mean, you know, that Flora will—”
“Yes, yes; Flora, of course, you sly little puss. There! never blush; I guess I know your secret—Jack, eh?—Ah, Sir Digby, you and I are too old to understand the tender passion, aren’t we?”
“Yes—that is, no. You better speak for yourself, sir. I—I—I believe I have an appointment—I—Good evening, Miss Keane.”
Sir Digby Auld’s exit was not an impressive one.
With an amused look on his face, Richards watched him till the closed door shut out the view; then he stretched out his sturdy legs, threw himself back in his chair, and laughed until the rafters rang.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BATTLE AND THE BREEZE.
“The deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave.”