Sir Joseph looked up briskly; his sister had accidentally touched on an
old association.

"Talk of falling overboard," he began, "reminds me of an extraordinary
adventure--"

There Launce broke in, making his apologies.

"It shan't occur again, Miss Lavinia," he said. "To-morrow morning I'll
oil myself all over, and slip into the water as silently as a seal."

"Of an extraordinary adventure," persisted Sir Joseph, "which happened
to me many years ago, when I was a young man. Lavinia?"

He stopped, and looked interrogatively at his sister. Miss Graybrooke
nodded her head responsively, and settled herself in her chair, as if
summoning her attention in anticipation of a coming demand on it. To
persons well acquainted with the brother and sister these proceedings
were ominous of an impending narrative, protracted to a formidable
length. The two always told a story in couples, and always differed
with each other about the facts, the sister politely contradicting
the brother when it was Sir Joseph's story, and the brother politely
contradicting the sister when it was Miss Lavinia's story. Separated one
from the other, and thus relieved of their own habitual interchange
of contradiction, neither of them had ever been known to attempt the
relation of the simplest series of events without breaking down.

"It was five years before I knew you, Richard," proceeded Sir Joseph.

"Six years," said Miss Graybrooke.