“You are Captain Boddle,” she said, looking hard at Doodles as he bowed to her on entering the room.

“Captain Boodle, ma’am; at your service.”

“Oh, Captain Bood-dle; it is English name, I suppose?”

“Certainly, ma’am, certainly.  Altogether English, I believe.  Our Boodles come out of Warwickshire; small property near Leamington—­doosed small, I’m sorry to say.”

She looked at him very hard, and was altogether unable to discover what was the nature or probable mode of life of the young man before her.  She had lived much in England, and had known Englishmen of many classes, but she could not remember that she had ever become conversant with such a one as he who was now before her.  Was he a gentleman, or might he be a house-breaker?  “A doosed small property near Leamington,” she said, repeating the words after him.  “Oh!”

“But my visit to you, ma’am, has nothing to do with that.”

“Nothing to do with the small property.”

“Nothing in life.”

“Then, Captain Bood-dle, what may it have to do with?”

Hereupon Doodles took a chair, not having been invited to go through that ceremony.  According to the theory created in her mind at the instant, this man was not at all like an English captain.  Captain is an unfortunate title, somewhat equivalent to the foreign count—­unfortunate in this respect, that it is easily adopted by many whose claims to it are very slight.  Archie Clavering, with his polished leather boots, had looked like a captain—­had come up to her idea of a captain—­but this man!  The more she regarded him, the stronger in her mind became the idea of the housebreaker.

“My business, ma’am, is of a very delicate nature—­of a nature very delicate indeed.  But I think that you and I, who understand the world, may soon come to understand each other.”

“Oh, you understand the world.  Very well, sir.  Go on.”

“Now, ma’am, money is money, you know.”

“And a goose is a goose; but what of that?”

“Yes; a goose is a goose, and some people are not geese.  Nobody, ma’am, would think of calling you a goose.”

“I hope not.  It would be so uncivil, even an Englishman would not say it.  Will you go on?”

“I think you have the pleasure of knowing Lady Ongar?”

“Knowing who?” said Sophie, almost shrieking.

“Lady Ongar.”

During the last day or two Sophie’s mind had been concerned very much with her dear Julie, but had not been concerned at all with the affairs of Captain Clavering, and, therefore, when Lady Ongar’s name was mentioned, her mind went away altogether to the quarrel, and did not once refer itself to the captain.  Could it be that this was an attorney, and was it possible that Julie would be mean enough to make claims upon her?  Claims might be made for more than those twenty pounds.  “And you,” she said, “do you know Lady Ongar?”