Chapter 2 - Page 2

a majority, perhaps, are a little disposed to mistake the value of
other people as well as their own. This was the _genus_, as John Effingham
had expressed it; but the _species_ will best appear on dissection. The
master of the ship saluted this person cordially, and as an old
acquaintance, by the name of Monday.

"A _mousquetaire_ resuscitated," said Mademoiselle Viefville, in her
broken English, as one who had come in the same boat as the first-named,
thrust his whiskered and mustachoed visage above the rail of the gangway.

"More probably a barber, who has converted his own head into a wig-block,"
growled John Effingham.

"It cannot, surely, be Wellington in disguise!" added Mr. Effingham, with
a sarcasm of manner that was quite unusual for him.

"Or a peer of the realm in his robes!" whispered Eve, who was much amused
with the elaborate toilet of the subject of their remarks, who descended
the ladder supported by a sailor, and, after speaking to the master, was
formally presented to his late boat-companion, as Sir George Templemore.
The two bustled together about the quarter-deck for a few minutes, using
eye-glasses, which led them into several scrapes, by causing them to hit
their legs against sundry objects they might otherwise have avoided,
though both were much too high-bred to betray feelings--or fancied they
were, which answered the same purpose.

After these flourishes, the new comers descended to the cabin in company,
not without pausing to survey the party in the hurricane-house, more
especially Eve, who, to old Ann's great scandal, was the subject of their
manifest and almost avowed admiration and observation.

"One is rather glad to have such a relief against the tediousness of a
sea-passage," said Sir George as they went down the ladder. "No doubt you
are used to this sort of thing, Mr. Monday; but with me, it is voyage the
first,--that is, if I except the Channel and the seas one encounters in
making the usual run on the Continent."

"Oh, dear me! I go and come as regularly as the equinoxes, Sir George,
which you know is quite, in rule, once a year. I call my passages the
equinoxes, too, for I religiously make it a practice to pass just twelve
hours out of the twenty-four in my berth."

This was the last the party on deck heard of the opinions of the two
worthies, for the time being; nor would they have been favoured with all
this, had not Mr. Monday what he thought a rattling way with him, which
caused him usually to speak in an octave above every one else. Although
their voices were nearly mute, or rather lost to those above, they were
heard knocking about in their state-rooms; and Sir George, in