“Yes, but it is deused dull in this old town.  No theatre,—­no concert,—­no music at all, but from organ-grinders,—­no parties,—­nothing, in fact, but prayer-meetings from one week’s end to another.  I should die of the blues here.”

“Only find something to do, settle yourself into a pleasant home, and you’ll forget your uneasiness.”

“That’s very well to say”——­

“And very easy to do.  But it isn’t the way to begin by flirting with every pretty, foolish girl you see.  Oh, Hugh! you are all I have now to love.  I shall grow old soon, and I want to lean upon you.  Give up the navy; be advised by me.”

Hugh whistled softly.  He did not suppose that his mother knew of his gallantry.  He was amused at her sharp observation.

“So you think I’m a flirt, mother?” said he.  “You are out, entirely.  I’m a pattern of propriety at home!”

“You need not tell me, Hugh!  I know more than you think.  But I didn’t know that a son of mine could be so simple as I find you are.”

“She’s after me,” thought Hugh.  “She saw me, surely.”

His mother went on.

“With such an opportunity as you have to get yourself a wife——­Don’t laugh!  I want to see you married, for you will never sow your wild oats until you are.  With such a chance as you have”——­

“Why, mother,” broke in Hugh, “it isn’t so bad as that.”

“Isn’t so bad?  What do you mean?”

“Why, you know what you’re driving at, and so do I. Lucy is a good girl enough, but I never meant anything serious.  There’s no need of my marrying her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Now, mother, what’s the use?  You are only trying to read me a moral lecture, because I gave Lucy a harmless smack.”

“Lucy Ransom!” repeated Mrs. Kinloch, with ineffable scorn.  “Lucy Ransom!  I hope my son isn’t low enough to dally with a housemaid, a scullion!  If I had seen such a spectacle, I should have kept my mouth shut for shame.  ‘A guilty conscience needs no accuser’; but I am sorry you had not pride enough to keep your disgusting fooleries to yourself.”

“Regularly sold!” muttered Hugh, as he beat a rat-tattoo on the window-pane.

“I gave you credit for more penetration, Hugh.  Now, just look a minute.  What would you think of the shrewdness of a young man, who had no special turn for business, but a great fondness for taking his ease,—­with no money nor prospect of any,—­and who, when he had the opportunity to step at once into fortune and position, made no movement to secure it?”

“Well, the application?”

“The fortune may be yours, if you will.”

“Don’t tell me riddles.  Show me the prize, and I’m after it.”

“But it has an incumbrance.”

“Well?”

“A pretty, artless, affectionate little woman, who will make you the best wife in the world.”

“Splendid, by Jove!  Who is she?”