The welcome we got at our various stopping-places was often scanty indeed, and more than once we were told to go farther down the street, that the inn was full.  And I may as well confess that my mind was troubled about John Paul.  Despite all I could say, he would go to the best hotels in the larger towns, declaring that there we should meet the people of fashion.  Nor was his eagerness damped when he discovered that such people never came to the ordinary, but were served in their own rooms by their own servants.

“I shall know them yet,” he would vow, as we started off of a morning, after having seen no more of my Lord than his liveries below stairs.  “Am I not a gentleman in all but birth, Richard?  And that is a difficulty many before me have overcome.  I have the classics, and the history, and the poets.  And the French language, though I have never made the grand tour.  I flatter myself that my tone might be worse.  By the help of your friends, I shall have a title or two for acquaintances before I leave London; and when my money is gone, there is a shipowner I know of who will give me employment, if I have not obtained preferment.”

The desire to meet persons of birth was near to a mania with him.  And I had not the courage to dampen his hopes.  But, inexperienced as I was, I knew the kind better than he, and understood that it was easier for a camel to enter the eye of a needle, than for John Paul to cross the thresholds of the great houses of London.  The way of adventurers is hard, and he could scarce lay claim then to a better name.

“We shall go to Maryland together, Captain Paul,” I said, “and waste no time upon London save to see Vauxhall, and the opera, and St. James’s and the Queen’s House and the Tower, and Parliament, and perchance his Majesty himself,” I added, attempting merriment, for the notion of seeing Dolly only to leave her gave me a pang.  And the captain knew nothing of Dolly.

“So, Richard, you fear I shall disgrace you,” he said reproachfully.  “Know, sir, that I have pride enough and to spare.  That I can make friends without going to Arlington Street.”

I was ready to cry with vexation at this childish speech.

“And a time will come when they shall know me,” he went on.  “If they insult me now they shall pay dearly for it.”

“My dear captain,” I cried; “nobody will insult you, and least of all my friends, the Manners.”  I had my misgivings about little Mr. Marmaduke.  “But we are, neither of us, equipped for a London season.  I am but an unknown provincial, and you—­” I paused for words.

For a sudden realization had come upon me that our positions were now reversed.  It seemed strange that I should be interpreting the world to this man of power.

“And I?” he repeated bitterly.

“You have first to become an admiral,” I replied, with inspiration; “Drake was once a common seaman.”

He did not answer.  But that evening as we came into Windsor, I perceived that he had not abandoned his intentions.  The long light flashed on the peaceful Thames, and the great, grim castle was gilded all over its western side.