“That will be for you to decide,” was the reply. “Is it a bargain?”
The captain looked at him and deliberated. “All right. Mondays and Thursdays,” he said, laconically.
Hardy saw through the ruse, and countered.
“Now Swann is ill I can't always get away when I wish,” he said, easily. “I'll just drop in when I can. Good day.”
He opened the door and, fearful lest the other should alter his mind at the last moment, walked briskly down the path to the gate. The captain stood for some time after his departure deep in thought, and then returned to the garden to be skilfully catechized by Miss Nugent.
“And when my young friend comes with his pipe you'll be in another room,” he concluded, warningly.
Miss Nugent looked up and patted his cheek tenderly. “What a talent for organization you have,” she remarked, softly. “A place for everything and everything in its place. The idea of his taking such a fancy to you!”
The captain coughed and eyed her suspiciously. He had been careful not to tell her Hardy's reasons for coming, but he had a shrewd idea that his caution was wasted.
“Today is Thursday,” said Kate, slowly; “he will be here to-morrow and Saturday. What shall I wear?”
The captain resumed his gardening operations by no means perturbed at the prophecy. Much as he disliked the young man he gave him credit for a certain amount of decency, and his indignation was proportionately great the following evening when Bella announced Mr. Hardy. He made a genial remark about Shylock and a pound of flesh, but finding that it was only an excellent conversational opening, the subject of Shakespeare's plays lapsed into silence.