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Updated: June 15, 2025
It was only the body that was dying; Mrs. Harrington's mind was bright and keen as ever. "That doctor is a fool," she said. "I have told him to come back and bring Sir James Harlow with him. And will you please send and tell Fitz that I should like to see him? You must arrange to stay on a few days until I am better. Captain Bontnor will have to do without you.
Captain Bontnor was engaged one day in the study of an author called Dickens, to whose works he had not yet found time to devote his full attention, when a strange footstep on the pavement made him look up. It certainly was not Standon's halting gait, and a lack of iron nail certified to the fact that it was no Somarsh man.
During these long walks Captain Bontnor remained at home alone, or joined a knot of fellow-mariners on the green in front of the reading-room. When Eve came home with her mind full of matter to be set down on paper he discreetly went to keep his watch on deck backwards and forwards on the pavement in front of the window.
"Remember that she is a lady, you know. Quite a lady." "I am remembering that," replied the peer stolidly; "that's why I am of the opinion just expressed." Captain Bontnor gave a little sigh of relief, as if one of his many difficulties had been removed. At the same time he glanced furtively towards the inexpensive cigar, which was affording distinct if somewhat exaggerated enjoyment.
The Count was looking at him keenly. "Then," he said, "you also have noticed a change." Captain Bontnor shuffled in his seat and likewise in his speech. "I suppose," he said, "that she has grown into a woman. Adversity's done it." "Yes," said the Count, "your observations seem to me to be correct. I had the pleasure of seeing her once or twice when she was staying at Mrs.
He was looking to the north, and it happened that from that same point of the compass there was coming towards him the good steamer Bellver, on whose deck stood a little shock-headed man Captain Bontnor. There is a regular service of steamers to and from the Island of Majorca to the mainland, and, in addition, steamers make voyages when pressure of traffic may demand.
Some instinct, which he was much too practical to define, and possibly too stupid to detect, told him that this was one of those occasions where it is much more blessed to receive than to give. "And so," continued Captain Bontnor, as they were walking down the shady side of that noisiest street in the world, the Rambla, "and so you would just call her Eve, if you was me?" "I should."
The crowd turned like one man and watched the advent of Captain Bontnor. The old man was dressed in his best pilot cloth suit. He had worn it quite recklessly for the last month, ever since Eve had come to live with him. He had been interrupted in his morning walk his quarter-deck tramp forty times the length of his own railing in front of Malabar Cottage.
She would not have known what to do with a daughter, so Fate had sent her a son. From the Caballero Challoner to Fitz, from Fitz to Captain Bontnor, from Captain Bontnor to John Craik, and from Craik back to Fitz, this, with Cipriani de Lloseta ever coming and going, in and out, had been Eve FitzHenry's life.
A country banker's son sent to public school and university to be educated out of country banking and into nothing else. Captain Bontnor was quite penniless. During his long life he had saved nearly four thousand pounds, and this sum he had placed on deposit with the Somarsh bankers, living very comfortably on the interest. The whole of this was absorbed a mere drop in the financial ocean. Mrs.
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