“As to time,” said John with a laugh, “I believe that may be dispensed with, though money is certainly a different thing.”

“Oh, time too,” replied his lordship.  “I have never time enough to do anything as it ought to be done—­always hurried—­I wish you could recommend to me a lady who would take the trouble off my hands.”

“It might be done,” said John with a smile, and the image of Kate Chatterton crossed his brain, but it was soon succeeded by that of her more lovely sister.  “But how do you manage on board your ship—­hurried there too?”

“Oh! never there,” replied the captain gravely; “that’s duty you know, and everything must be regular of course on shore it is a different thing—­there I am only a passenger.  L——­ has a charming society, Mr. Moseley—­a week or ten days ago I was shooting, and came to a beautiful cottage about five miles from the village, that was the abode of a much more beautiful woman, a Spaniard, a Mrs. Fitzgerald—­I am positively in love with her:  so soft, so polished, so modest——­”

“How came you acquainted with her?” inquired Moseley, interrupting him in a little surprise.

“Chance, my dear fellow, chance.  I was thirsty, and approached for a drink of water; she was sitting in the veranda, and being hurried for time, you know, it saved the trouble of introduction.  I fancy she is troubled with the same complaint; for she managed to get rid of me in no time, and with a great deal of politeness.  I found out her name, however, at the next house.”

During this rattling talk, John had fixed his eyes on the face of one of the passengers who sat opposite to him.  The stranger appeared to be about fifty years of age, strongly pock-marked, with a stiff military air, and had the dress and exterior of a gentlemen.  His face was much sun-burnt, though naturally very fair; and his dark keen eye was intently fixed on the sailor as he continued his remarks.

“Do you know such a lady, Moseley?”

“Yes,” said John, “though very slightly; she is visited one of my sisters, and—­”

“Yourself,” cried Lord Henry, with a laugh.

“Myself, once or twice, my lord, certainly,” answered John, gravely; “but a lady visited by Emily Moseley and Mrs. Wilson is a proper companion for any one.  Mrs. Fitzgerald is very retired in her manner of living, and chance made us acquainted; but not being, like your lordship, in want of time, we have endeavored to cultivate her society, as we have found it very agreeable.”

The countenance of the stranger underwent several changes during this speech of John’s, and at its close his eyes rested on him with a softer expression than generally marked its rigid and compressed muscles.  Willing to change a discourse that was growing too particular for a mail-coach, John addressed himself to the opposite passengers, while his eye yet dwelt on the face of the military stranger.

“We are likely to have a fine day, gentlemen.”  The soldier bowed stiffly, as he smiled his assent, and the other passenger humbly answered, “Very, Mr. John,” in the well known tones of honest Peter Johnson.  Moseley started, as he turned his face for the first time on the lank figure which was modestly compressed into the smallest possible compass in the corner of the coach, in a way not to come in contact with any of its neighbors.