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.
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