“How do you do? how do you do?” said Henry, as, the next evening but one, he entered the drawing room, at Lodore, and stretched two fingers to each of the party. “So you have had Edmund here, I find,” he continued.

“Only for one day, poor fellow,” replied Mrs. Montgomery.

“He told me he could stay but one day,” said Henry. “The Arandales are in town, and he wants to be as much as possible with them, while the ship is refitting. His hopes in that quarter are revived, he tells me,” he added, turning to the sisters, and looking, with malicious triumph, full in Julia’s face, till her cheeks tingled again, under his continued stare.

“You might have looked for a more affectionate salutation from your aunt, I think, Henry,” observed Mrs. Montgomery reproachfully, “after having been in a dangerous engagement.”

“I thought, ma’am,” he replied, accepting her offered embrace both coldly and awkwardly, “that no one cared what became of me!”

“Don’t talk idly, my dear,” said his aunt. “But how could you, Henry,” she added, “be so inconsiderate, as to write the alarming letter you did, while there was any uncertainty?”

“There was no uncertainty on my mind at the time I wrote, ma’am. I was, as I believe I mentioned, in the Tender alongside, waiting to carry intelligence to the fleet, as soon as the last of the enemy should be seen to strike. Edmund was standing in a very conspicuous situation, just over me, (out on one of the flukes of the anchor;) when, bang! and in one moment I saw the ball coming towards him, and the next his heels lifted above his head, and his legs and arms going round in the air, like the wings of a windmill! I thought, of course, he must be blown into a thousand atoms! What else could I think?” he added, observing Julia’s involuntary shudder, with a look of gratified malice. “And I supposed,” he continued, still addressing his aunt, “that you would rather hear it from a friend, than see the first of it in the papers. So I wrote on board the Tender, and, as soon as we joined the fleet, sent my letter by the first opportunity. I think I was very considerate! We had our order to sail, you see, the moment the enemy struck; so that I had no time to hear that he was not killed.”

“I am sure, the papers, or any thing,” said Frances, “would have been better than your letter, Henry; which was worded, I think, much in the same delicate manner that you expressed yourself just now. But you never lose an opportunity of giving pain, Henry. I dare say, if the truth was known, you took quite a pleasure in writing that cruel letter, and fancying how wretched it would make us all!—For Edmund is not like you; every body loves him, poor dear fellow!”

“Candid, at least!” observed Henry, with a sneer. “But I am always fortunate in possessing Lady Frances’s good opinion. Sailors, however, have no time to be nice,” he added. “When fellows die, or are killed, (which is the same thing, you know) we throw them overboard, and if the fighting’s done, pipe to dinner! Edmund will do as much for me, or I for him, one of those days; just as it may happen. Edmund, to be sure, is likely to kick the bucket as soon as any one, for he’s cursed rash!”

Frances saw, with kindling resentment, the pain that every word was inflicting on poor Julia.

“There is nothing of your strange jargon comprehensible,” she said, “but such expressions as are calculated to wound the feelings; those, as usual, are obvious enough.”

“If young ladies choose to volunteer their feelings for every fellow in His Majesty’s service,” retorted Henry, “they’ll have something to do now-a-days. There’s many a better man than Edmund, and that would be a greater loss to his friends too, that will feed the fishes yet before the war is over, I can tell you!” “It’s capital fun,” he added, glancing at Julia, “to see a villain of a shark, after he has followed the ship the length of a day, just make two bites of a fellow!”

“Strange notions of fun, you have, Henry,” said Mrs. Montgomery.

“How should you like it to happen to yourself, Henry?” asked Frances.

“Not at all, I thank you,” he replied. “But just fancy Edmund between the rascal’s teeth, snipping him in two at the small of the waist!”

“You should not speak in that manner, Henry,” said Mrs. Montgomery.

“Speaking don’t make it more likely to happen, ma’am,” he replied; “more unlikely things have happened, tho’! What do you say to a wager, Frances, eh? What will you bet, I say, that a hungry shark, don’t make a dinner of Edmund, the very next time he goes to sea?”

“Fie! fie! Henry,” interrupted Mrs. Montgomery; “this is a subject on which we have all felt seriously, too lately, to be disposed to jest upon it at present.”

“It’s not quite such a jest neither,” he answered, sulkily. “If the ball had hit him, instead of the fluke of the anchor, (as it might just as easily have done,) I maintain it, there would not have been two inches square of him left in any one piece! And what’s to prevent the next ball, I should be glad to know, from hitting him, or me, or any other fellow that goes in the way of it! People must prepare their fine feelings for such things,” he continued, looking after Julia as she was leaving the room. “He has been devilish lucky, I think, to get on as he has done, and make so much money too, without getting knocked on the head long ago! But his turn will come next, I dare say,” he added in great haste, lest Julia should reach the door before it was said.

“It cannot be at all necessary to your professional character, Henry, to be either unfeeling, or inelegant,” observed Mrs. Montgomery. “What can be more the opposite of both, than Edmund; and you will allow, I believe, that he is a good sailor.”

“Yes,” said Frances, “he is certainly an instance, that to be a brave officer it is not necessary to be a sea-monster! And I really do not perceive what right those have to be the latter, who cannot even offer in their apology that they are the former.” And she followed her sister with tears of vexation in her eyes.

“You should not, my dear,” said Mrs. Montgomery, as soon as the door closed after Frances, “address such expressions to your cousins, as that—‘young ladies need not volunteer their feelings to every fellow in His Majesty’s service!’ and such language, at any rate, can never be applicable in the present instance. It would indeed be very unnatural, and unamiable too, of them, if they did not feel when Edmund was in danger.”

“If you don’t mind what you’re about, ma’am, I suspect you’ll have some natural feelings to manage that you won’t much like!”

“What do you mean, Henry?”

“I mean, ma’am, that Frances, who you see makes no secret of her adoration of Edmund, will be running off with him one of those days!”

“Oh dear, no!” said Mrs. Montgomery: “Frances’ undisguised affection is evidently that of a sister. Besides, I have the most perfect confidence in Edmund’s honour.”

“Oh, very well, ma’am,” answered Henry, carelessly. “As for Julia,” he added, “of course, I don’t like to see her too prodigal of her feelings to any one.”

“Henry!” said Mrs. Montgomery, “I now tell you, once more, what I have already often told you: If you persist in this indelicate display of your very misplaced, and, you must be aware, hopeless attachment to your cousin, I shall consider it my duty (and it must be a painful one) to forbid you my house, till the return of her father places her under his protection.”

“I don’t see why my case should be so hopeless as you say: Julia will soon be her own mistress; and if she chooses to have me, I’d be a cursed fool not to secure such a good hit! Indeed, I tell you fairly, that as soon as she is of age, if she consents to run away with me, I shall have no scruples on the subject. She has enough for us both, and has every right to please herself!”

“I have questioned Julia, and she assures me that she neither authorises your addresses, nor returns your preference.”

“Till she is her own mistress, and can end disputes at once, she has no fancy, I dare say, for being lectured every day of her life by her wise friends! However, I say nothing; time will tell!”

Here the conference ended.