Tom Llanyard, Cadbury's captain, a bluff-looking, curly-haired man, about forty years of age, had been for a brief space a warrant officer in the Royal Navy. He was a good-hearted fellow—not very polished, but a thorough seaman. He had a secret contempt for the character of his employer, who did not care much for yachting, but thought it sounded well to have such an appendage as the Firefly at Cowes. Tom found the pay good; the lodging ditto; and the duty was easy. Tom was a sailor or nothing; and thus being compelled to work, 'the yacht service,' as he used to say, 'suited him to a hair.'
He certainly thought the season a strange one for a cruise; and as for Mr. Gaskins, Cadbury's groom and chief valet, he utterly loathed the whole expedition, and, connecting it shrewdly in some way with Miss Cheyne, he hated her with a most unholy hatred.
To Tom Llanyard she was a new experience; she was so totally unlike any other of her sex he had seen on board the Firefly; and he had—we are sorry to say—seen many that were rather remarkable.
The weather had been rough, and the poor girl, who had suffered much from sea sickness, of a necessity remained below; while her luckless attendant, Daisy Prune, was utterly prostrated by the same ailment, and the order of things was now reversed, for Alison had to attend upon her. The presence of Daisy, however, was a source of protection to the former, as it saved her from much of the attention of Cadbury, who had hoped that great events might be developed or achieved by the sea voyage.
Alison's freshness was delightful to the coarse, jaded man of the world, who, tired at last of extravagant and congenial dissipation (that would have horrified his worthy father the Alderman of Threadneedle Street), thought now of trying domestic felicity, pour se désennuyer; and truly Alison was so unlike most of the other women he had known, or whose acquaintance he had chosen to cultivate, that the present opportunity gave him great expectations of the future.
He actually reckoned upon a safe conquest, now that he had her all to himself; and so far as Sir Ranald was concerned, while piling kindnesses upon him, and pressing upon him also the best wines that the cellar of Cadbury Court offered, he would not have been sorry had a gale of wind blown the pompous old baronet overboard, and left Alison alone in the world—alone, and at his mercy!
Leaving Sir Ranald busy with a telescope on deck scanning the churches of St. Jacques and St. Remy, with Le Follet and the fisher town of Dieppe, Cadbury descended to the luxurious and beautiful little cabin of the yacht, the gilded and mahogany fittings of which were exquisite, and there found Alison—alone, as he expected.
How sad and fair, young and pure, she looked in all the brightness of her beauty, as her head rested against the crimson back of the cushioned locker or sofa on which she was seated in an attitude expressive of utter weariness of heart.
'Alison,' said he, attempting to take her hand.
Her eyes flashed now, and her proud little lip curled, as she said, 'Lord Cadbury, when did I give you permission to call me—as papa does—by my Christian name?'