“Very much to her credit,” said Lord Seahampton, with a stolid face and a twinkle in his eye. “And--”
“Died.”
“Dear, dear!”
“Yes,” pursued the captain, “she died nineteen years ago, leaving a little girl. He’s dead now--Mr. Challoner. He’s my brother-in-law, but I call him Mr. Challoner, because he’s above me.”
“I trust he is,” said Lord Seahampton, cheerfully, with a glance at the painted ceiling. “I trust he is.”
The captain chuckled. “I mean in a social way,” he explained. “And now he’s dead, his daughter Eve is left quite alone in the world, and she telegraphed for me. She is living in the Island of Majorca.”
“Ah!”
The kindly old blue eyes flashed round on his companion’s face.
“Do you know it?”
The peer thrust forward his chin and spoilt what small claims he had to good looks.