“A holiday for her,” growled the captain.

“It has affected her health,” continued his son; “and besides, think of his daughter.  She’s a high-spirited girl, and all Sunwich is laughing over her father’s mishap.”

“Nugent fell into his own trap,” exclaimed the captain, impatiently.  “And it won’t do that girl of his any harm to be taken down a peg or two.  Do her good.  Knock some of the nonsense out of her.”

“That’s not the way to speak of a lady,” said Jem, hotly.

The offended captain regarded him somewhat sourly; then his face changed, and he got up from his chair and stood before his son with consternation depicted on every feature.

“You don’t mean to tell me,” he said, slowly; “you don’t mean to tell me that you’re thinking anything of Kate Nugent?”

“Why not?” demanded the other, defiantly; “why shouldn’t I?”

Captain Hardy, whistling softly, made no reply, but still stood eyeing him.

“I thought there was some other reason for your consideration besides ‘ordinary decent ideas,’” he said, at last.  “When did it come on?  How long have you had it?”

Mr. Hardy, jun., in a studiously unfilial speech, intimated that these pleasantries were not to his taste.

“No, of course not,” said the captain, resuming his seat.  “Well, I’m sorry if it’s serious, Jem, but I never dreamt you had any ideas in that quarter.  If I had I’d have given old Nugent the best bunk on the ship and sung him to sleep myself.  Has she given you any encouragement?”

“Don’t know,” said Jem, who found the conversation awkward.

“Extraordinary thing,” said the captain, shaking his head, “extraordinary.  Like a play.”

“Play?” said his son, sharply.

“Play,” repeated his father, firmly.  “What is the name of it?  I saw it once at Newcastle.  The lovers take poison and die across each other’s chests because their people won’t let ’em marry.  And that reminds me.  I saw some phosphor-paste in the kitchen, Jem.  Whose is it?”

“I’m glad to be the means of affording you amusement,” said Jem, grinding his teeth.

Captain Hardy regarded him affectionately.  “Go easy, my lad,” he said, equably; “go easy.  If I’d known it before, things would have been different; as I didn’t, we must make the best of it.  She’s a pretty girl, and a good one, too, for all her airs, but I’m afraid she’s too fond of her father to overlook this.”

“That’s where you’ve made such a mess of things,” broke in his son.  “Why on earth you two old men couldn’t—­”

“Easy,” said the startled captain.  “When you are in the early fifties, my lad, your ideas about age will be more accurate.  Besides, Nugent is seven or eight years older than I am.”

“What became of him?” inquired Jem.

“He was off the moment we berthed,” said his father, suppressing a smile.  “I don’t mean that he bolted—­he’d got enough starch left in him not to do that—­but he didn’t trespass on our hospitality a moment longer than was necessary.  I heard that he got a passage home on the Columbus.  He knew the master.  She sailed some time before us for London.  I thought he’d have been home by this.”