“Do you know why I wanted to have lunch especially early to-day?” she asked him anon, when they were seated at the table. “Can you guess?”
“No, by Jove, I can’t!” he snorted out indignantly. “I’m not a clairvoyant, or whatever else you call those people who pretend to read other people’s thoughts.”
“Sure, then, I’ll tell you,” she said, laughing at his quaint manner, “I’m going to see Mrs Craddock.”
“I’m just as much in the dark as ever,” he retorted. “Who the dickens is the woman, eh?”
Nell saved her aunt the trouble of answering.
“Why, don’t you remember the old lady at the station whom Rover tumbled down and broke her eggs?” she cried out eagerly. “You must recollect, for you sent her some port wine for her poor daughter, which auntie and I took the second time we went to see her.—You must remember her!”
“Ah, yes, I remember now,” said the Captain, scratching his head reflectively. “So that’s her name, eh—Craddock, Craddock. Where have I heard it before? By Jove, I’ve got it now! Why, ma’am, there was a Craddock who was boatswain of the old Bucephalus on the West Coast.”
“What!” cried Mrs Gilmour. “My poor dear Ted’s ship?”
“The same, ma’am,” he answered. “I recollect the man very well now. He was a tall, spare, intellectual-looking chap, more like a longshore man than a sailor. He was delicate, too, suffering from a weak chest; and, Ted told me, now I come to think of it, that he volunteered for a second term of service on the African station in order to be in a warm climate. It didn’t do him much good, though, for he died on the commission.”
“How strange!” said Mrs Gilmour pensively. “I don’t remember poor Ted writing me anything about it, but I’ve no doubt the man was our Mrs Craddock’s husband, and, if so, that will make me take an additional interest in her. Run upstairs, Nell, and get ready at once, my dear. As soon as you come down we’ll start, for I have only got to put on my bonnet.”