Everybody there was looking at Marston Greyle.

The little group had drawn near to the light of one of the three gas-lamps which feebly illuminated the quay; it seemed to Copplestone that the Squire's face had paled when the fisherman arrived at the middle of his story.

But it flushed as his companion turned to him, and he laughed, a little uneasily.
"Said he knew me--in America ?" he exclaimed.

"I don't remember meeting Mr.Bassett Oliver out there.

But then I met so many Englishmen in one place or another that I may have been introduced to him somewhere, at some time, and--forgotten all about it." Stafford spoke--with unnecessary abruptness, in Copplestone's opinion.
"I don't think it very likely that any one would forget Bassett Oliver," he said.