"Wished, sir—wished? It is mine!" The admiral smote the table with his fist; the glasses jingled; he remembered the port, and, drinking some, was cheered.
"Yours, Sir John—yours from this moment if you consent to lay Miss Villiers' hand in mine," Roscoria spoke with ardor; the other men gathered round with interest, and the admiral saw he was expected to say the handsome thing. He rebelled at first.
"Young man," he said, "your hospitality is of a somewhat treacherous character."
"Pardon me, Sir John," retorted Roscoria. "I believe I have made you an honorable proposal. If it takes place whilst you are drinking my wine, well, sir, all that I can say is—I trust you find the port is good."
"Excellent—excellent. I have no fault to find with the wine. The wine, sir, is unexceptionable. I wish only I found your offer the same."
"Come now, admiral," interposed Tregurtha, good-humoredly, "what's a niece? You are rid of a tiresome responsibility, and the lady gets an honest husband."
"H'm! honesty is his forte, is it? Shouldn't have thought it," muttered the admiral; but he was giving in.
"There is one objection," he said, moving uneasily. "Miss Villiers is under age; but then girls are headstrong nowadays. What if she declines?"
"Ah! she'll not decline," said Roscoria, with a joyous ring in his voice.