"Pray, what name?"
"John Verrion, sir."
"Well, Captain Verrion, I must first of all thank you heartily for receiving us. I had to abandon my yacht, the Spitfire, yesterday. We were nearly sunk by a hurricane of wind, but the men believed they could keep her afloat and carry her home. They would have their way, and I heartily pray they are safe, though they cannot yet have made a port. Is the owner of this vessel aboard?"
"No, sir. She belongs to the Earl of ——. His lordship's been left at Madeira. He changed his mind and stopped at Madeira—him and the countess, and a party of three that was along with them—and sent the yacht home."
"Then there is nobody aboard except the crew?"
"Nobody, sir."
"I have not the honour of his lordship's acquaintance," said I, "but I think, Grace," I exclaimed, turning towards her, not choosing to speak of her as "this lady," whilst she wore the wedding ring, not to call her "my wife" either, "that he is a distant connection of your aunt, Lady Amelia Roscoe."
"I don't know, Herbert," she answered.
"Anyway," said I, "it is a great privilege to be received by such a vessel as this."
"His lordship 'ud wish me to do everything that's right, sir," said Captain Verrion. "I'll have a cabin got ready for you, but as to meals—" he paused, and added awkwardly, "I'm afraid there's nothen aboard but plain yachting fare, sir."