"Besides, the captain is rather more than a visitor," observed Mr. Basset, laughing.
"More?" said Ashton, with a sickly smile.
"He has spent some few weeks with us," said Ethel.
"Weeks, Ethel?" exclaimed Mr. Basset. "Why, girl, they have run to months now. He is the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends—old Tom Hawkshaw, of Lincoln's Inn—and has seen a great deal of the world. He is a fine, free, rattling fellow, whom I am sure you will like; at least, I hope so, as he proposes to follow, perhaps to go with, us to the Mauritius."
Morley felt his heart sink, he knew not why, at these words—or at what they imported.
"Has there been a game playing here of which I have been kept in ignorance?" thought he.
There was an instinctive fear or jealousy in his mind, and he dared scarcely to look at Ethel. When he did so, there was a painful blush upon her cheek.
"Do not speak of the Mauritius, my dear sir," said he, in an agitated tone. "I cannot conceive or realise the idea of your all being anywhere but here—here at dear old Laurel Lodge."
"Never mind—time soothes all things. Fill your glass, Morley. The Mauritius possesses a splendid climate, though it is rather hot from November to April; and there the best of wine can be had almost duty free. Once we are there, who can say, but I may find you a snug appointment, my boy, and Ethel shall write to acquaint you of it."
Now Mr. Basset had in reality no more idea at that moment of procuring any such post for Morley, than of securing one for the personage who resides in the moon, but it suited him to say so at the time; and thus Morley, with a heart full of gratitude, exclaimed: