He was a rather infirm man, but could scarcely be
called old yet, with an agreeable face and a promising air of making the
best of things. The conversation began on his side with great
cheerfulness and good humour, but soon became distrustful, and soon
angry. That was the captain's cue for striking both into the
conversation and the garden.
"Morning, sir!" said Captain Jorgan. "How do you do?"
"The gentleman I am going away with," said the young fisherman to
Tregarthen.
"O!" returned Kitty's father, surveying the unfortunate captain with a
look of extreme disfavour. "I confess that I can't say I am glad to see
you."
"No," said the captain, "and, to admit the truth, that seems to be the
general opinion in these parts. But don't be hasty; you may think better
of me by-and-by."
"I hope so," observed Tregarthen.
"Wa'al, _I_ hope so," observed the captain, quite at his ease; "more than
that, I believe so,--though you don't. Now, Mr. Tregarthen, you don't
want to exchange words of mistrust with me; and if you did, you couldn't,
because I wouldn't. You and I are old enough to know better than to
judge against experience from surfaces and appearances; and if you
haven't lived to find out the evil and injustice of such judgments, you
are a lucky man.
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