The Grey Lady | Page 8

for the transaction of his own private affairs, or possibly for the edification of his own private mind, and the other was Captain John Thomas Bontnor, late of the British mercantile service.
Being a simple-minded person, as many seamen are, Captain Bontnor sought to make himself agreeable.
"This is the first time," he said, "that I have set foot in Spain, though I've heard the language spoken, having sailed in the Spanish Main, and down to Manilla one voyage likewise. It is a strange- sounding language, I take it--a lot of jabbering and not much sense."
He spoke somewhat slowly, after the manner of one who had always had a silent tongue until grey hairs came to mellow it.
The young man, his hearer, looked slightly distressed, as if he was suppressing some emotion. He was rather a vacuous-looking young man--startlingly clean as to countenance and linen. He was shaven, and had he not been distinctly a gentleman, he might have been a groom. He apparently had a habit of thrusting forward his chin for the purpose of scratching it pensively with his forefinger. This elegant trick probably indicated bewilderment, or, at all events, a slight mystification--he had recourse to it now--on the question of the Spanish language.
"Well," he answered gravely, "if you come to analyse it, I dare say there is as much sense in it as in other languages--when you know it, you know."
"Yes," murmured the captain, with a glowing sense of satisfaction at his own conversational powers. He felt he was becoming quite a society man.
"But," pursued the hereditary legislator, "it's tricky--deuced tricky. The nastiest lot of irregular verbs I've come across yet. Still, I get along all right. Worst of it is, you know, that when I've got a sentence out all right with its verbs and things, I'm not in a fit state to catch the answer."
"Knocks you on to your beam-ends," suggested Captain Bontnor.
"Yes."
Lord Seahampton settled his throat more comfortably in his spotless collar, and proceeded to help himself to a fourth mutton cutlet.
"Staying here long?" he inquired.
"No, not long," answered Captain Bontnor slowly, as if meditating; then suddenly he burst into his story. "You see, sir," he said, "I'm getting on in years, and I'm not quite the build for foreign travel. It sort of flurries me. I'm a bit past it. I'm not here for pleasure, you know."
This seemed to have the effect of sending Lord Seahampton off into a brown study--not apparently of great value so far as depth of thought was concerned. He looked as if he were wondering whether he himself was in Barcelona for pleasure or not.
"No," he murmured encouragingly,
"It is like this," pursued Captain Bontnor, confidentially. "My sister, Amelia Ann, married above her."
"Very much to her credit," said Lord Seahampton, with a stolid face and a twinkle in his eye. "And--"
"Died."
"Dear, dear!"
"Yes," pursued the captain, "she died nineteen years ago, leaving a little girl. He's dead now--Mr. Challoner. He's my brother-in-law, but I call him Mr. Challoner, because he's above me."
"I trust he is," said Lord Seahampton, cheerfully, with a glance at the painted ceiling. "I trust he is."
The captain chuckled. "I mean in a social way," he explained. "And now he's dead, his daughter Eve is left quite alone in the world, and she telegraphed for me. She is living in the Island of Majorca."
"Ah!"
The kindly old blue eyes flashed round on his companion's face.
"Do you know it?"
The peer thrust forward his chin and spoilt what small claims he had to good looks.
"No; I've heard of it, though. I know of a wom--a lady, who has large estates there--a Mrs. Harrington."
"The Honourable Mrs. Harrington is a sort of relation of my niece's, Miss Challoner. I call her Miss Challoner, although she is my niece, because she is above me."
His lordship glanced at the ceiling again.
"I mean she is a lady. And I'm going to Majorca to fetch her. At least, I'm trying to get there, but I cannot somehow find out about the boat. They're a bit irregular, it seems, and this stupid jabbering of theirs does flurry me so. Now, what's this? Eh? Pudding, is it? Well, it doesn't look like it. No, thank ye!"
The poor old man was soon upset by insignificant trifles, and after he had given way to a little burst of petulance like this, he had a strange, half pathetic way of staring straight in front of him for a few seconds, as if collecting himself again.
It happened that Lord Seahampton was a good-natured young man, with rather a soft heart, such as many horsey persons possess. Something in Captain Bontnor touched him; some simple British quality which he was pleased to meet with, thus, in a foreign land.
"Look here," he said, "I'll go out with you afterwards and find out all about the boat,