"You know, Phil," says Ned at last, having talked in a lively strain
upon a multitude of matters, none of which Philip perceived to be
important, "'fore gad, I always liked you! Tis so, as the Lord's my
judge. Nay, you think I took a damned odd way of showing it. But we're
not all alike. Now look you! Hearken unto me, as the parson says. I
can say a good word for you in a certain ear."

"Whose?" queried Phil, wondering in what ear he needed a good word
said.

"Whose, eh? Now whose would it be? Come, come, I'll speak to the
point. I'm no man for palaver. 'Tis an ear you've whispered more than
one sweet thing into, I'll warrant. You're young, Philip, young: you
think you can fall in love and nobody find it out. Why, I hadn't been
landed two hours, and asked the news, when I was told that you and
Bert Russell were over ears in love with my sister."

Phil merely looked his astonishment.

"Now, sir, you mayn't think it," says Mr. Ned, "but my word has some
weight with Fanny."

"Fanny?" echoed Philip. "What has she to do with it?"

"Why, everything, I fancy. The lady usually has--"

"But Fanny isn't the lady."

"What? Then who the devil is?"