“Wot was it?” demanded the other.

“Nothing much,” replied Charles, standing with his hand on the door-knob, “but I wouldn’t believe it of you; I said I couldn’t.”

“Wot—­was—­it?” insisted Mr. Kybird.

“Why, they said you once gave a man a fair price for a pair of trousers,” said the barman, indignantly.

He closed the door behind him softly, and Mr. Kybird, after a brief pause, opened it again and, more softly still, quitted the precincts of The Goblets, and stepped across the road to his emporium.

[Illustration:  “He stepped across the road to his emporium.”]

Captain Nugent, in happy ignorance of the dark designs of the wardrobe dealer, had also gone home.  He was only just beginning to realize the comparative unimportance of a retired shipmaster, and the knowledge was a source of considerable annoyance to him.  No deferential mates listened respectfully to his instructions, no sturdy seaman ran to execute his commands or trembled mutinously at his wrath.  The only person in the wide world who stood in awe of him was the general servant Bella, and she made no attempt to conceal her satisfaction at the attention excited by her shortcomings.

He paused a moment at the gate and then, walking slowly up to the door, gave it the knock of a master.  A full minute passing, he knocked again, remembering with some misgivings his stern instructions of the day before that the door was to be attended by the servant and by nobody else.  He had seen Miss Nugent sitting at the window as he passed it, but in the circumstances the fact gave him no comfort.  A third knock was followed by a fourth, and then a distressed voice upstairs was heard calling wildly upon the name of Bella.

At the fifth knock the house shook, and a red-faced maid with her shoulders veiled in a large damp towel passed hastily down the staircase and, slipping the catch, passed more hastily still upstairs again, affording the indignant captain a glimpse of a short striped skirt as it turned the landing.

“Is there any management at all in this house?” he inquired, as he entered the room.

“Bella was dressing,” said Miss Nugent, calmly, “and you gave orders yesterday that nobody else was to open the door.”

“Nobody else when she’s available,” qualified her father, eyeing her sharply.  “When I give orders I expect people to use their common sense.  Why isn’t my tea ready?  It’s five o’clock.”

“The clock’s twenty minutes fast,” said Kate.  “Who’s been meddling with it?” demanded her father, verifying the fact by his watch.

Miss Nugent shook her head.  “It’s gained that since you regulated it last night,” she said, with a smile.

The captain threw himself into an easy-chair, and with one eye on the clock, waited until, at five minutes to the hour by the right time, a clatter of crockery sounded from the kitchen, and Bella, still damp, came in with the tray.  Her eye was also on the clock, and she smirked weakly in the captain’s direction as she saw that she was at least two minutes ahead of time.  At a minute to the hour the teapot itself was on the tray, and the heavy breathing of the handmaiden in the kitchen was audible to all.