“Good evening, Teddy,” he said, with a genial smile, as he entered slowly and closed the door behind him.  “I ’ope I see you well?”

“I’m quite well,” returned Mr. Silk, gazing at him with unconcealed surprise.

“I’m glad to ’ear it,” said Mr. Kybird, in a somewhat reproachful voice, “for your sake; for every-body’s sake, though, p’r’aps, I did expect to find you looking a little bit down.  Ah! it’s the wimmen that ’ave the ’arts after all.”

Mr. Silk coughed.  “What d’ye mean?” he inquired, somewhat puzzled.

“I came to see you, Teddy, on a very delikit business,” said Mr. Kybird, taking a seat and gazing diffidently at his hat as he swung it between his hands; “though, as man to man, I’m on’y doing of my dooty.  But if you don’t want to ’ear wot I’ve got to say, say so, and Dan’l Kybird’ll darken your door no more.”

“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.