‘So, so. Might be better—might be worse.—You here, Miss Saucebox!’ he added, turning to Elsie. ‘Why are you not at your lessons—eh, now?’
‘As if anybody could learn Latin roots on a sunny morning like this!’ Then, clasping one of his arms with both her hands, and looking up coaxingly into his face, she said: ‘You might give me a holiday, nunky dear.’
‘Why, why? A holiday indeed!—Listen to her, Sir Frederick. The baggage is always begging for holidays.’
‘But the baggage doesn’t always get them,’ was the answer with a pretty pout. Then, after another glance at the long-haired stranger, who was already busy with the piano, she said to herself: ‘It is he; I am sure of it. And yet if I had not heard his voice, I should not have known him.’
Captain Bowood at this time had left his sixtieth birthday behind him, but he carried his years lightly. He was a bluff, hearty-looking, loud-voiced man, with a very red face, and very white hair and whiskers. A fever, several years previously, had radically impaired his eyesight, since which time he had taken to wearing gold-rimmed spectacles. He had a choleric temper; but his bursts of petulance were like those summer storms which are over almost as soon as they have broken, and leave not a cloud behind. Throughout the American Civil War, Captain Bowood had been known as one of the most daring and successful blockade-runners, and it was during those days of danger and excitement that he laid the foundation of the fortune on which he had since retired. No man was more completely ruled by his wife than the choleric but generous-hearted Captain, and no man suspected the fact less than he did.
‘I drove over this morning,’ said Sir Frederick, ‘to see you about that bay mare which I hear you are desirous of getting rid of.’
‘Yes, yes—just so. We’ll go to the stable and have a look at her. By-the-bye, I was talking to Boyd just now, when your name cropped up. It seems he met you when you were both in South America. Oscar Boyd, engineering fellow and all that. You remember him, eh, now?’
‘I certainly do remember a Mr Boyd; but it is many years since we met.’ Then to himself the Baronet said: ‘Can this be the other man? Oh! Lady Dimsdale.’
‘A very agreeable fellow,’ said the Captain. ‘Here on a visit for a couple of days. A little matter of business between him and me to save lawyers’ expenses.’