‘The Countess Ida, sir, of and from London for Bombay, so many days out. And pray, what ship is that?’
‘His Majesty’s ship Magicienne.’
Colledge started. ‘Beg pardon,’ he exclaimed. ‘Isn’t Sir Edward Panton her commander?’
‘He is,’ answered the lieutenant.
‘By George, my cousin!’ cried Colledge; ‘haven’t seen him these seven years. How doocid odd, now, to fall in with him here!’
‘Oh, indeed,’ said the lieutenant, with a hint of respect in his manner that might have been wanting in it before. ‘May I venture to ask your name?’
‘Colledge.’
‘Ah! of course; a son of my Lord Sandown. This will be news for Sir Edward.’ He sent a look at the corvette, as though measuring the distance between the vessels.
‘Sir,’ here said old Keeling, ‘I believe that luncheon is still upon the table. Let me conduct you below, sir. It will have been a mighty hot ride for you out upon those unsheltered waters.’
The lieutenant bowed, and followed the skipper to the companion. Colledge put his arm through mine and led me to the rail.