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I should think I did know it–a plaguy sight better than he!

“To begin with,” he went on, “you look like one, for all the world.”

This was sailing too close for my liking.

“Old gentleman,” said I, “you are wearisomely dull. Possibly I had better explain at length. To be frank, then, I had counted, in case of failure, to avoid all scandal to your daughter’s name. I had hoped (you will excuse me) to have carried her off and evaded you until I could present myself as her husband. If baffled in this, I proposed to make my escape as a common burglar surprised upon your premises. It seems to me,” I wound up, including the three servants with an indignant sweep of the arm, “that you might well have emulated my delicacy! As it is, I must trouble you to recognise it.”

“Heaven send,” I added to myself, “that the real inamorato keeps his bungling foot out of this till I get clear!” And I reflected with much comfort that he was hardly likely to make an attempt upon premises so brilliantly lit up.

“In justice to my daughter’s taste,” replied Sir Harry, “I am willing to believe you looked something less like a jail-bird when she met you in the Pump Room at Bath. You have fine clothes in your portmanteau no doubt, and I sincerely trust they make all the difference to your appearance. But a fine suit is no expensive outfit for the capture of an heiress. You may be the commonest of adventurers. How do I know, even, what right you have to the name you carry?”

If he didn’t, it was still more certain that I didn’t. Indeed he had a conspicuous advantage over me in knowing what that name was. This very painful difficulty had hardly presented itself, however, before the girl’s wit smoothed it away. She spoke up,–looking as innocent as an angel, too.

“Captain Fitzroy Pilkington could add no lustre to his name, father, by giving it to me. His family is as good as our own, and his name is one to be proud of.”

“So it is, my dear,” thought I, “if I can only remember it. So it’s Captain Fitzroy Pilkington I am–and from Bath. Decidedly I should have taken some time in guessing it.”

“I suppose, sir, I may take it for granted you have not brought your credentials here to-night?” said the old boy, with a grim smile.

It was lucky he had not thought of searching my pockets for them.

“Scarcely, sir,” I answered, smiling too and catching his mood; and then thought I would play a bold card for freedom. “Come, come, sir,” I said; “I have tried to deceive you, and you have enjoyed a very adequate revenge. Do not prolong this interview to the point of inflicting torture on two hearts whose only crime is that of loving too ardently. You have your daughter. Suffer me to return to the inn in the village, and in the morning I will call on you with my credentials and humbly ask for her hand. If, on due examination of my history and circumstances, you see fit to refuse me–why then you make two lovers miserable: but I give you my word–the word of a Fitzroy Pilkington–that I will respect that decision. ‘Parcius junctas quatiam fenestras’: or, rather, I will discontinue the practice altogether.”

“William,” said Sir Harry, shortly, to the footman, “show Mr. Pilkington to the door. Will you take your ladder away with you, sir, or will you call for it to-morrow?”

“To-morrow will do,” I said, airily, and stepping across to Mistress Kate I took her hand and raised it as if for a kiss. Her fingers gave mine an appreciative squeeze.

“But who in the world are you?” she whispered.