America reaps the benefit of our folly . . . .  That was a lucky run of yours up the Niger; the admiral was friendly, but you deserved your luck.  For God’s sake, don’t forget the state of our service when you’re one of our cherubs up aloft, Beauchamp.  This I’ll say, I’ve never heard a man talk about it as you used to in old midshipmite days, whole watches through—­don’t you remember? on the North American station, and in the Black Sea, and the Mediterranean.  And that girl at Malta!  I wonder what has become of her?  What a beauty she was!  I dare say she wasn’t so fine a girl as the Armenian you unearthed on the Bosphorus, but she had something about her a fellow can’t forget.  That was a lovely creature coming down the hills over Granada on her mule.  Ay, we’ve seen handsome women, Nevil Beauchamp.  But you always were lucky, invariably, and I should bet on you for the Election.’

‘Canvass for me, Jack,’ said Beauchamp, smiling at his friend’s unconscious double-skeining of subjects.  ’If I turn out as good a politician as you are a seaman, I shall do.  Pounce on Hardist’s vote without losing a day.  I would go to him, but I’ve missed the Halketts twice.  They ’re on the Otley river, at a place called Mount Laurels, and I particularly want to see the colonel.  Can you give me a boat there, and come?’

‘Certainly,’ said Wilmore.  ’I’ve danced there with the lady, the handsomest girl, English style, of her time.  And come, come, our English style’s the best.  It wears best, it looks best.  Foreign women . . . they’re capital to flirt with.  But a girl like Cecilia Halkett—­one can’t call her a girl, and it won’t do to say Goddess, and queen and charmer are out of the question, though she’s both, and angel into the bargain; but, by George! what a woman to call wife, you say; and a man attached to a woman like that never can let himself look small.  No such luck for me; only I swear if I stood between a good and a bad action, the thought of that girl would keep me straight, and I’ve only danced with her once!’

Not long after sketching this rough presentation of the lady, with a masculine hand, Wilmore was able to point to her in person on the deck of her father’s yacht, the Esperanza, standing out of Otley river.  There was a gallant splendour in the vessel that threw a touch of glory on its mistress in the minds of the two young naval officers, as they pulled for her in the ship’s gig.

Wilmore sang out, ‘Give way, men!’

The sailors bent to their oars, and presently the schooner’s head was put to the wind.

‘She sees we’re giving chase,’ Wilmore said.  ’She can’t be expecting me, so it must be you.  No, the colonel doesn’t race her.  They’ve only been back from Italy six months:  I mean the schooner.  I remember she talked of you when I had her for a partner.  Yes, now I mean Miss Halkett.  Blest if I think she talked of anything else.  She sees us.