“I never saw your face before,” murmured Mr. Fogo faintly.

“That, sir, if a misfortune, is one which you share with a number of your fellow-men.  And permit me to tell you, sir,” continued Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, with unaccountable change of mood, “that I consider your treatment of my friend Admiral Buzza unworthy of a gentleman, sir—­unworthy of a gentleman.  Come, Doctor; come, Pellow—­I want a word or two more with you about this Club.”

And Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys ruffled away, followed by his two slightly puzzled companions.

For the space of two minutes Mr. Fogo gazed up the road after them.  Then he sighed, took off his spectacles, and wiped them carefully.

“So that,” he said slowly, “is the man she married.”

“Iss, sir.”

Mr. Fogo started, turned round on the barrow, and beheld the urchin from the “Man-o’-War.”

“Little boy,” he said sternly, “your conduct is unworthy of a—­I mean, what are you doing here?”

“You’ve a-been an’ squashed a cake,” said the boy.

Mr. Fogo gave him a shilling, and hurried away down the road; but stopped once or twice on his homeward way to repeat to himself—­

“So that—­is the man—­she married.”

It took Admiral Buzza several days to recover his composure; but when he did, the project of the new Club grew with the conjugal disintegration of Troy, and at a rate of progress scarcely inferior.  Within a week or two a house was hired in Nelson Row, a brass-plate bearing the words “Trojan Club” affixed to the door, and Admiral Buzza installed in the Presidential Chair.  The Presidential Chair occupied the right-hand side of the reading-room window, which overlooked the harbour; and the Presidential duties consisted mainly in conning the morning papers and discussing their contents with Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, who usually sat, with a glass of whiskey and the Club telescope, on the left-hand side of the window.  Indeed, it would be hard to say to which of the two, the whiskey or the telescope, the Honourable Frederic more sedulously devoted himself:  it is certain, at least, that under the Admiral’s instruction he soon developed a most amazing familiarity with nautical terms, was a mine of information (almost as soon as the Club invested in a Yacht Register) on the subject of Lord Sinkport’s yacht, the auxiliary screw Niobe, and swept the horizon with a persistence that made his fellow-members stare.

But the most noticeable feature in this nautical craze was the disproportionate attention which the Honourable Frederic lavished on barques.  It was the first rig that he learnt to distinguish, and his early interest developed before long into something like a passion.

One morning, for instance, Sam Buzza lounged into the reading-room and observed—­

“I say, have you seen that American barque that came in last night—­ the Maritana?”

“What name?” asked Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, looking up suddenly.