"Quite right. You're only a boy. Well, Hastings is to remain as assistant to Mr. Scrafton, our new agent at Murshidabad. You remain as assistant--or is it rival, eh--to Mr. Clive. You're both out of the way. Phyllis may prefer Bulger."
"Bulger?"
"Yes. Didn't you know? Phyllis has taken a fancy to him; that hook of his appears to be a most fascinating feature; and he will accompany us home."
Desmond laughed a little awkwardly.
"I hope--" he began.
"He won't hook her? But there, I mustn't make sport of such a serious matter. Go on as you have begun, my dear lad, and I promise you, when you come home, that if Phyllis hasn't found someone already to her liking, you shall have all the influence I can exert with the minx."
"Thank you, sir: I couldn't ask for more. There's another thing: do you think you could do anything for Mr. Toley? He's a capital fellow."
"I know it. I have anticipated you. Toley is appointed captain of the Jane, an Indiaman that arrived the other day; her captain died of scurvy on the way out. She'll sail for England next week; we go with her; and so does that villain Barker, who'll get his deserts when he reaches London. The Good Intent is broken up; her interloping is over for good and all.
"But come, my boy, sure 'tis time we dressed: Admiral Watson likes punctuality, and I promise you he'll give us a capital dinner. A word in your ear: Phyllis is to sit between you and Hastings. You can't eat him, at any rate."
A week later Desmond went down to the Company's ghat to see the Jane sail. Mr. Toley in his brand new uniform looked more melancholy than ever, and Phyllis Merriman made a little grimace when she saw for the first time the captain under whose charge she was to sail for home.