“He’s a vera tumultuous young man,” the mate remarked.  “He was off like a clipper in a hurricane.”

“I perceive,” said Von Baumser, “dat he has left his hat behind him.  I do now remember dat I have heard his name spoken with dat of dis very young lady by my good vriend, the major.”

“Then he’s jealous belike,” said Hamilton Miggs, with a knowing shake of the head.  “I’ve felt that way myself before now.  I rounded on Billy Barlow, o’ the Flying Scud, over that very thing, twelve months ago come Christmas.  But I don’t think it was the thing for this young chap to cut away and never say ‘With your leave,’ or ‘By your leave,’ or as much as ‘Good night, gentlemen all.’  It ain’t what you call straight up an’ down.”

“It’s transcendental,” said the mate severely; “that is what I call it.”

“Ah, my vriends,” the German put in, “when a man is in love you must make excuses for him.  I am very sure dat he did mean no offence.”

In spite of this assurance Captain Hamilton Miggs continued to be very sore upon the point.  It was only by dint of many replenishings of his glass and many arguments that his companions could restore him to his pristine good humour.  Meanwhile, the truant was speeding through the night with a fixed determination in his heart that he should have before morning such an understanding, one way or the other, as would never again leave room for a doubt.

CHAPTER XXXI.

A CRISIS AT ECCLESTON SQUARE.

His father’s encouraging words had given Ezra Girdlestone fresh heart, and he had renewed his importunities with greater energy than ever.  Never surely did any man devote every moment of his time more completely to the winning of a woman’s heart.  From morning until night the one idea was ever before his mind and every little want of Kate’s was forestalled with a care and foresight which astonished her.  The richest fruit and flowers found their way unexpectedly into her room; her table was littered with the latest books from Mudie’s, and the newest pieces lay upon her music-stand.  Nothing which attention and thoughtfulness could do was left undone either by the father or the son.

In spite of these attentions, however, and the frequent solicitations of her guardian, Kate stood firmly to her colours.  If the Tom of the present were false, she at least would be true to the memory of the Tom of other days, the lad who had first whispered words of love into her ears.  Her ideal should remain with her whatever might befall.  No other man could ever take the place of that.