"Anstruther is a smart-looking fellow," commented Captain Fitzroy. "Who is he?"
Truth to tell, the gallant commander of the Orient was secretly amazed by the metamorphosis effected in Robert's appearance since he scrutinized him through his glasses. Iris, too, unaccustomed to the constraint of high-heeled shoes, clung to the nondescript's arm in a manner that shook the sailor's faith in Lord Ventnor's pretensions as her favored suitor.
Poor Sir Arthur said not a word, but his lordship was quite at ease—
"From his name, and from what Deane tells me, I believe he is an ex-officer of the Indian Army."
"Ah. He has left the service?"
"Yes. I met him last in Hong Kong."
"Then you know him?"
"Quite well, if he is the man I imagine."
"That is really very nice of Ventnor," thought the shipowner. "The last thing I should credit him with would be a forgiving disposition."
Meanwhile Anstruther was reading Iris a little lecture. "Sweet one," he explained to her, "do not allude to me by my former rank. I am not entitled to it. Some day, please God, it will be restored to me. At present I am a plain civilian."