"Yes; a man at the works, engine driver, you know, ex-sailor, light-weight champion of the Mediterranean Fleet, he's coaching me."
"Ah, very good, excellent sport. Suppose you don't lose your temper?"
"Oh, no! Not with Bounce." He laughed. "How's the mater and all the rest of them?"
"Your mother's very well, very well indeed. Phillip is going on very well in India."
"Got a rise yet?"
"Rise?—er—no. In fact, you're doing the best of any, so far. Mrs Bevengton was inquiring about you; she and Bessie are coming over to tea to-morrow." He shot a sudden, keen glance at his son. "Very nice girl, Bessie, extremely nice."
"That's so," Jack admitted.
"Have you seen anything more of your gipsy maiden?" There was a note of anxiety in his father's voice.
"Yes; seen her once for a few minutes."
"Ah!" It seemed as if Jack had explained something, some obscure point.