Before Arnold could reply Blanche called to him from the lawn. His color
rose, and he turned eagerly to go out. Sir Patrick nodded his head with
the air of a man who had been answered to his own entire satisfaction.
"Oh!" he said, "_that's_ the attraction, is it?"

Arnold's life at sea had left him singularly ignorant of the ways of the
world on shore. Instead of taking the joke, he looked confused. A deeper
tinge of color reddened his dark cheeks. "I didn't say so," he answered,
a little irritably.

Sir Patrick lifted two of his white, wrinkled old fingers, and
good-humoredly patted the young sailor on the cheek.

"Yes you did," he said. "In red letters."

The little gold lid in the knob of the ivory cane flew up, and the old
gentleman rewarded himself for that neat retort with a pinch of snuff.
At the same moment Blanche made her appearance on the scene.

"Mr. Brinkworth," she said, "I shall want you directly. Uncle, it's your
turn to play."

"Bless my soul!" cried Sir Patrick, "I forgot the game." He looked about
him, and saw his mallet and ball left waiting on the table. "Where are
the modern substitutes for conversation? Oh, here they are!" He bowled
the ball out before him on to the lawn, and tucked the mallet, as if it
was an umbrella, under his arm. "Who was the first mistaken person," he
said to himself, as he briskly hobbled out, "who discovered that human
life was a serious thing? Here am I, with one foot in the grave; and the
most serious question before me at the present moment is, Shall I get