“Captain,” I cut in, “you are sailing eastward.”

“Yes, yes,” he answered absently, fingering some Point d’Espagne.

“There is no chance of touching in the colonies?” I persisted.

“Colonies!  No,” said he, in the same abstraction; “I am making for the Solway, being long overdue.  But what think you of this, Mr. Carvel?”

And he held up a wondrous vellum-hole waistcoat of a gone-by vintage, and I saw how futile it were to attempt to lead him, while in that state of absorption, to topics which touched my affair.  Of a sudden the significance of what he had said crept over me, the word Solway repeating itself in my mind.  That firth bordered England itself, and Dorothy was in London!  I became reconciled.  I had no particle of objection to the Solway save the uneasiness my grandfather would come through, which was beyond helping.  Fate had ordered things well.

Then I fell to applauding, while the captain tried on (for he was not content with holding up) another frock of white drab, which, cuffs and pockets, I’ll take my oath mounted no less than twenty-four:  another plain one of pink cut-velvet; tail-coats of silk, heavily broidered with flowers, and satin waistcoats with narrow lace.  He took an inconceivable enjoyment out of this parade, discoursing the while, like a nobleman with nothing but dress in his head, or, perhaps, like a mastercutter, about the turn of this or that lapel, the length from armpit to fold, and the number of button-holes that was proper.  And finally he exhibited with evident pride a pair of doeskins that buttoned over the calf to be worn with high shoes, which I make sure he would have tried on likewise had he been offered the slightest encouragement.  So he exploited the whole of his wardrobe, such an unlucky assortment of finery as I never wish to see again; all of which, however, became him marvellously, though I think he had looked well in anything.  I hope I may be forgiven the perjury I did that day.  I wondered greatly that such a foible should crop out in a man of otherwise sound sense and plain ability.

At length, when the last chest was shut again and locked, and I had exhausted my ingenuity at commendation, and my patience also, he turned to me as a man come out of a trance.

“Od’s fish, Mr. Carvel,” he cried, “you will be starved.  I had forgot your state.”

I owned that hunger had nigh overcome me, whereupon he became very solicitous, bade the boy bring in supper at once, and in a short time we sat down together to the best meal I had seen for a month.  It seemed like a year.  Porridge, and bacon nicely done, and duff and ale, with the sea rushing past the cabin windows as we ate, touched into colour by the setting sun.  Captain Paul did not mess with his mates, not he, and he gave me to understand that I was to share his cabin, apologizing profusely for what he was pleased to call poor fare.  He would have it that he, and not I, were receiving favour.