Jack Nugent sighed.  “They were happy times, Kybird.”

“Might ha’ been for you,” retorted the other, his temper rising a little at the remembrance of his wrongs.

“Have you come home for good? inquired Miss Kybird, curiously.  Have you seen your father?  He passed here a little while ago.”

“I saw him,” said Jack, with a brevity which was not lost upon the astute Mr. Kybird.  “I may stay in Sunwich, and I may not—­it all depends.”

“You’re not going ’ome?” said Mr. Kybird.

“No.”

The shopkeeper stood considering.  He had a small room to let at the top of his house, and he stood divided between the fear of not getting his rent and the joy to a man fond of simple pleasures, to be obtained by dunning the arrogant Captain Nugent for his son’s debts.  Before he could arrive at a decision his meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a stout, sandy-haired lady from the back parlour, who, having conquered his scruples against matrimony some thirty years before, had kept a particularly wide-awake eye upon him ever since.

“Your tea’s a-gettin’ cold,” she remarked, severely.

Her husband received the news with calmness.  He was by no means an enthusiast where that liquid was concerned, the admiration evoked by its non-inebriating qualities having been always something in the nature of a mystery to him.

“I’m coming,” he retorted; “I’m just ’aving a word with Mr. Nugent ’ere.”

“Well, I never did,” said the stout lady, coming farther into the shop and regarding the visitor.  “I shouldn’t ’ave knowed ’im.  If you’d asked me who ‘e was I couldn’t ha’ told you—­I shouldn’t ’ave knowed ’im from Adam.”

Jack shook his head.  “It’s hard to be forgotten like this,” he said, sadly.  “Even Miss Kybird had forgotten me, after all that had passed between us.”

“Eh?” said Mr. Kybird.

“Oh, don’t take any notice of him,” said his daughter.  “I’d like to see myself.”

Mr. Kybird paid no heed.  He was still thinking of the son of Captain Nugent being indebted to him for lodging, and the more he thought of the idea the better he liked it.

“Well, now you’re ’ere,” he said, with a great assumption of cordiality, “why not come in and ‘ave a cup o’ tea?”

The other hesitated a moment and then, with a light laugh, accepted the offer.  He followed them into the small and untidy back parlour, and being requested by his hostess to squeeze in next to ’Melia at the small round table, complied so literally with the order that that young lady complained bitterly of his encroachments.

“And where do you think of sleeping to-night?” inquired Mr. Kybird after his daughter had, to use her own expressive phrase, shown the guest “his place.”

Mr. Nugent shook his head.  “I shall get a lodging somewhere,” he said, airily.

“There’s a room upstairs as you might ’ave if you liked,” said Mr. Kybird, slowly.  “It’s been let to a very respectable, clean young man for half a crown a week.  Really it ought to be three shillings, but if you like to ’ave it at the old price, you can.”