well," continued Lightmark gaily, just touching in the brown sail of
a barge.

"I've a nephew in the Royal Artillery, sir," said Mr. Bullen; "but I
fear he is a bad lot."

"Oh, they all are!" said Lightmark, "an abandoned crew."

His eyes wandered off to the bridge over which the road ran,
dividing the dry dock from the outer basin and wharf on which they
stood. A bevy of factory girls in extensive hats stuck with
brilliant Whitechapel feathers were passing; one of them, who was
pretty, caught Lightmark's eyes and flung him a saucy compliment,
which he returned with light badinage in kind that made the foreman
grin.

"They know a fine man when they see one, as well as my lady," he
said. Then he added, as if by an afterthought, lowering his voice a
little: "By the way, Mr. Lightmark, there was a young lady--a young
person here yesterday--making inquiries."

Lightmark bent down, frowning a little at a fly which had entangled
itself on his palette.

"Yes?" he remarked tentatively, when the offender had been removed.

"It was a young lady come after someone, who, she said, had been
here lately: a Mr. Dighton or Crichton was the name, I think. It was
the dockman she asked."