"There's no need to talk about it, it's a settled thing, eh, Jack?" the sailor would not be denied his chaff.
They looked expectantly at him, but he continued to puff away in silence, there was just a suspicion of a twinkle in his eye.
"What's her name?" Darwen asked.
"Bessie Bevengton. She's coming here to-morrow."
"That's alright, Jack; I'll see that you're not disturbed," Commander Carstairs said boisterously.
"Jack'll have to make up his mind soon then; she's a catch in the marriage market now. Her uncle left her ten thousand pounds the other day."
"Ten thousand pounds! Why, that would cover a multitude of sins," Darwen observed.
The Reverend Hugh smiled. "Oh, but I'm sure she doesn't want any gilding. She's a very nice girl and good looking."
The budding artist opened his mouth languidly, he was going to speak. They paused to listen, it seemed that he had something weighty to say. "She's—ah!—somewhat obese, don't you know." They laughed. This young man had been budding for a very long time, but as yet he had produced no appreciable flower. Cheltenham and Oxford had made him a finished gentleman, but not apparently able to earn his own living. He was a taller edition of Jack, rather better looking, but he lacked the steadiness of eye and firmness of mouth. "If I had ten thousand pounds I'd go to Paris and settle down."
"What should you do, Jack?"