Still Captain Bontnor hesitated.
“You might meet some of your friends,” he began tentatively, “in the streets, you know.” He paused and looked down at his own hands; he turned one palm up, showing the faint tattoo on the wrist. “I’m only a rough seafaring man,” he went on. “They might think it strange--might wonder whom you had picked up.”
The spotless collar seemed to be very uncomfortable.
“I’ve always made a practice,” mumbled Lord Seahampton, rather incoherently, “of letting my friends think what they damned well please. May I ask your name?”
“Bontnor’s my name. Captain Bontnor, at your service.”
“My name’s Seahampton.”
Captain Bontnor turned and looked at him.
“Yes, I’m Lord Seahampton.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Captain Bontnor, under his breath. His social facilities did not quite rise to an occasion like this.
“As soon as you’ve finished,” went on his companion rather hurriedly, “we’ll go out and look up these steamer people. Miss Challoner will be anxious for you to get there as soon as you can.”