“Stuff! think of Miss Fountain’s figure-head—­nor tell too many stories—­and, above all, for heaven’s sake, do keep the poor dear old sea out of sight for once.”

“Ay, ay, that stands to reason.”

By this time they were at Font Abbey, and David deposited his fair burden gently on the stone steps of the door.  She opened it without ceremony, and bustled into the dining-room, crying, “I have brought David, sir; and here he is;” and she accompanied David’s bow with a corresponding movement of her hand, the knuckles downward.

The old gentleman awoke with a start, rubbed his eyes, shook hands with the pair, and proposed to go up to Lucy in the drawing-room.

Now, it happened unluckily that Miss Fountain had been to the library and taken down one or two of those men and women who, according to her uncle, exist only on paper, and certain it is she was in charming company when she heard her visitors’ steps and voices coming up the stairs.  Had those visitors seen the vexed expression of her face as she laid down the book they would have instantly ’bout ship and home again; but that sour look dissolved away as they came through the open door.

On coming in they saw a young lady seated on a sofa.

Apparently she did not see them enter.  Her face happened to be averted; but, ere they had taken three steps, she turned her face, saw them, rose, and took two steps to meet them, all beaming with courtesy, kindness and quiet satisfaction at their arrival.

She gave her hand to Eve.

“This is my brother, Miss Fountain.”

Miss Fountain instantly swept David a courtesy with such a grace and flow, coupled with an engaging smile, that the sailor was fascinated, and gazed instead of bowing.

Eve had her finger ready to poke him, when he recovered himself and bowed low.

Eve played the accompaniment with her hand, knuckles down.

They sat down.  Cups of tea, etc., were brought round to each by John.  It was bad tea, made out of the room.  Catch a human being making good tea in which it is not to share.

Mr. Fountain was only half awake.

Eve was more or less awed by Lucy.  David, tutored by Eve, held his tongue altogether, or gave short answers.

“This must be what the novels call a sea-cub!” thought Miss Fountain.

The friends, Propriety and Restraint, presided over the innocent banquet, and a dismal evening set in.

The first infraction of this polite tranquillity came, I blush to say, from the descendant of John de Fonte.  He exploded in a yawn of magnitude; to cover this, the young lady began hastily to play her old game of setting people astride their topic, and she selected David Dodd for the experiment.  She put on a warm curiosity about the sea, and ships, and the countries men visit in them.  Then occurred a droll phenomenon:  David flashed with animation, and began full and intelligent