“Don’t be angry, Richard.” said the old gentleman.  “What is there to be angry about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I’m not angry—­I’m only curious. Did you find out who he was?”

“I did.  His name was Goward.  He was well known at Liverpool as a very clever and a very dangerous man.  Quite young at the time I am speaking of, and a first-rate sailor; famous for taking command of unseaworthy ships and vagabond crews.  Report described him to me as having made considerable sums of money in that way, for a man in his position; serving firms, you know, with a bad name, and running all sorts of desperate risks.  A sad ruffian, Richard!  More than once in trouble, on both sides of the Atlantic, for acts of violence and cruelty.  Dead, I dare say, long since.”

“Or possibly,” said Launce, “alive, under another name, and thriving in a new way of life, with more desperate risks in it, of some other sort.”

“Are you acquainted with the circumstances?” asked Turlington, retorting Launce’s question on him, with a harsh ring of defiance in his brassy voice.

“What became of the poor foreign sailor, papa?” said Natalie, purposely interrupting Launce before he could meet the question angrily asked of him, by an angry reply.

“We made a subscription, and spoke to his consul, my dear.  He went back to his country, poor fellow, comfortably enough.”

“And there is an end of Sir Joseph’s story,” said Turlington, rising noisily from his chair.  “It’s a pity we haven’t got a literary man on board—­he would make a novel of it.”  He looked up at the skylight as he got on his feet.  “Here is the breeze, this time,” he exclaimed, “and no mistake!”

It was true.  At last the breeze had come.  The sails flapped, the main boom swung over with a thump, and the stagnant water, stirred at last, bubbled merrily past the vessel’s sides.

“Come on deck, Natalie, and get some fresh air,” said Miss Lavinia, leading the way to the cabin door.

Natalie held up the skirt of her nankeen dress, and exhibited the purple trimming torn away over an extent of some yards.

“Give me half an hour first, aunt, in my cabin,” she said, “to mend this.”

Miss Lavinia elevated her venerable eyebrows in amazement.

“You have done nothing but tear your dresses, my dear, since you have been in Mr. Turlington’s yacht.  Most extraordinary!  I have torn none of mine during the whole cruise.”

Natalie’s dark color deepened a shade.  She laughed, a little uneasily.  “I am so awkward on board ship,” she replied, and turned away and shut herself up in her cabin.

Richard Turlington produced his case of cigars.

“Now is the time,” he said to Sir Joseph, “for the best cigar of the day—­the cigar after breakfast.  Come on deck.”

“You will join us, Launce?” said Sir Joseph.

“Give me half an hour first over my books,” Launce replied.  “I mustn’t let my medical knowledge get musty at sea, and I might not feel inclined to study later in the day.”