“How can I know whether I want to ’ear it or not when I don’t know wot it is?” said Mr. Silk, judiciously.

Mr. Kybird sat biting his thumb-nail, then he looked up suddenly.  “’Melia,” he said, with an outburst of desperate frankness, “’Melia is crying ’er eyes out.”

Mr. Silk, with a smothered exclamation, started up from his chair and regarded him eagerly.

“If she knew I’d been ’ere,” pursued Mr. Kybird, “she’d I don’t know wot she wouldn’t do.  That’s ’er pride; but I’ve got my pride too; the pride of a father’s ’art.”

“What—­what’s she crying about?” inquired Mr. Silk, in an unsteady voice.

“She’s been looking poorly for some time,” continued the veracious Mr. Kybird, “and crying.  When I tell you that part o’ the wedding-dress wot she was making ’ad to be taken away from ‘er because o’ the tears she dropped on it, you may ’ave some idea of wot things are like.  She’s never forgot you, Teddy, and it was on’y your quick temper that day that made ’er take on with young Nugent.  She’s got a temper, too, but she give ’er love once, and, being my daughter, she couldn’t give it agin.”

He stole a glance at his listener.  Mr. Silk, very pale and upright, was standing on the hearthrug, shaking all over with nervous excitement.  Twice he tried to speak and failed.

“That’s ’ow it is, Teddy,” sighed Mr. Kybird, rising as though to depart.  “I’ve done my dooty.  It was a ’ard thing to do, but I’ve done it.”

“Do you mean,” said Mr. Silk, recovering his voice at last, “do you mean that Amelia would marry me after all?”

“Do I mean?” repeated Mr. Kybird, naturally indignant that his very plain speaking should be deemed capable of any misconstruction.  “Am I speaking to a stock or a stone, Teddy?”

Mr. Silk took a deep breath, and buttoned up his coat, as though preparing to meet Mr. Nugent there and then in deadly encounter for the person of Miss Kybird.  The colour was back in his cheeks by this time, and his eyes were unusually bright.  He took a step towards Mr. Kybird and, pressing his hand warmly, pushed him back into his seat again.

“There’s ’er pride to consider, Teddy,” said the latter gentleman, with the whisper of a conspirator.

“She can’t stand being talked about all over the town and pointed at.”

“Let me see anybody a-pointing at ’er,” said the truculent Mr. Silk; “let me see ’em, that’s all.”

“That’s the way to talk, Teddy,” said Mr. Kybird, gazing at him with admiration.

“Talk!” said the heroic Mr. Silk.  “I’ll do more than talk.”  He clenched his fists and paced boldly up and down the hearthrug.

“You leave things to me,” said Mr. Kybird, with a confidential wink.  “I’ll see that it’s all right.  All I ask of you is to keep it a dead secret; even your mother mustn’t know.”

“I’ll be as secret as the grave,” said the overjoyed Mr. Silk.