Thus it came about that Eve and Captain Bontnor found themselves awaiting their host in the massive, gloomy drawing-room of the Palace in the Calle de la Paz at five o’clock that afternoon.
Captain Bontnor had learnt a great deal during the last few days; among other things he had learnt to love his niece with a simple, dog-like devotion, which had a vein of pathos in it for those who see such things. He placed himself well behind Eve, and looked around him with a wondering awe.
“I think, my dear,” he said, “that it would have been better if you had come alone. I--you know I am getting too old to learn manners now--eh--he! he! Yes. Having been so long at sea, you know.”
“I think the sea teaches men manners, uncle,” said Eve, with a little smile which he did not understand. “At any rate,” she went on, touching his rough sleeve affectionately, “it teaches them something that I like.”
“Does it, now? What, now? Tell me.”
“I do not know,” answered the girl, as if speaking to herself, and at this moment the door was opened. The man who came in was of medium height, with a long, narrow face, and singularly patient eyes.
“I should have known you,” he said, approaching Eve, and holding out his hand. “You do not remember your mother? I do, however. You are like her--and she was a good woman. And this is Captain Bontnor--your uncle.”
He shook hands with the old sailor without the faintest flicker of surprise at his somewhat incongruous appearance.
“I am glad,” he said suavely, “to make Captain Bontnor’s acquaintance.”
He turned to draw forward a chair, and the light from the high, barred window falling full on his head, betrayed the fact that his hair, close cut as an English soldier’s, was touched and flecked with grey. His lithe youthfulness of frame rather surprised Eve, who knew him to be a contemporary of her father’s.