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“You needn’t have gone,” was the reply.

“I ‘ad to,” said Mr. Burton, with a gulp; “he–he’s an old officer o’ mine, and it wouldn’t ha’ been discipline for me to refuse.”

“Officer?” repeated Mrs. Dutton.

“My old admiral,” said Mr. Burton, with a gulp that nearly choked him. “You’ve heard me speak of Admiral Peters?”

“Admiral?” gasped the astonished widow.

“What, a-carrying on like that?”

“He’s a reg’lar old sea-dog,” said Mr. Burton. “He’s staying with me, but of course ‘e don’t want it known who he is. I couldn’t refuse to ‘ave a drink with ‘im. I was under orders, so to speak.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Mrs. Dutton, softening. “Fancy him staying with you!”

“He just run down for the night, but I expect he’ll be going ‘ome in an hour or two,” said Mr. Burton, who saw an excellent reason now for hastening his guest’s departure.

Mrs. Dutton’s face fell. “Dear me,” she murmured, “I should have liked to have seen him; you have told me so much about him. If he doesn’t go quite so soon, and you would like to bring him here when you come to-night, I’m sure I should be very pleased.”

“I’ll mention it to ‘im,” said Mr. Burton, marvelling at the change in her manner.

“Didn’t you say once that he was uncle to Lord Buckfast?” inquired Mrs. Dutton, casually.

“Yes,” said Mr. Burton, with unnecessary doggedness; “I did.”

“The idea of an admiral staying with you!” said Mrs. Dutton.

“Reg’lar old sea-dog,” said Mr. Burton again; “and, besides, he don’t want it known. It’s a secret between us three, Mrs. Dutton.”

“To be sure,” said the widow. “You can tell the admiral that I shall not mention it to a soul,” she added, mincingly.

Mr. Burton thanked her and withdrew, lest Mr. Stiles should follow him up before apprised of his sudden promotion. He found that gentleman, however, still sitting at the front door, smoking serenely.

“I’ll stay with you for a week or two,” said Mr. Stiles, briskly, as soon as the other had told his story. “It’ll do you a world o’ good to be seen on friendly terms with an admiral, and I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Mr. Burton shook his head. “No, she might find out,” he said, slowly. “I think that the best thing is for you to go home after dinner, Joe, and just give ‘er a look in on the way, p’r’aps. You could say a lot o’ things about me in ‘arf an hour.”

“No, George,” said Mr. Stiles, beaming on him kindly; “when I put my hand to the plough I don’t draw back. It’s a good speaking part, too, an admiral’s. I wonder whether I might use old Peters’s language.”

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Burton, in alarm.

“You don’t know how particular she is.”

Mr. Stiles sighed, and said that he would do the best he could without it. He spent most of the day on the beach smoking, and when evening came shaved himself with extreme care and brushed his serge suit with great perseverance in preparation for his visit.

Mr. Burton performed the ceremony of introduction with some awkwardness; Mr. Stiles was affecting a stateliness of manner which was not without distinction; and Mrs. Dutton, in a black silk dress and the cameo brooch which had belonged to her mother, was no less important. Mr. Burton had an odd feeling of inferiority.

“I used to think she was the most charming woman in England,” he said, meaningly.

Mrs. Dutton simpered and looked down; Mr. Stiles moved his chair a little closer to her, and then glanced thoughtfully at his friend.

“Burton,” he said.

“Sir,” snapped the other.

“Run back and fetch my pipe for me,” said Mr. Stiles. “I left it on the mantelpiece.”

Mr. Burton hesitated, and, the widow happening to look away, shook his fist at his superior officer.

“Look sharp,” said Mr. Stiles, in a peremptory voice.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Mr. Burton, whose wits were being sharpened by misfortune, “but I broke it.”