“Whis—–?” said the hapless Brisket, making a noble effort.  He finished the word with a cough and gazed with protruding eyes at Mr. Chalk.  The appearance of that gentleman sobered him at once.

“No,” he said, slowly.

“How do you know?” inquired Mrs. Chalk.

“Because she can’t whistle,” replied Captain Brisket, feeling his way carefully.  “And what’s more, she wouldn’t if she could.  She’s been too well brought up for that.”

He gave a cunning smile at Mr. Chalk, to which that gentleman, having decided at all hazards to keep the secret from Captain Bowers, made a ghastly response, and nodded to him to proceed.

“What’s she got to do with my husband?” demanded Mrs. Chalk, her voice rising despite herself.

“I’m coming to that,” said Brisket, thoughtfully, as he gazed at the floor in all the agonies of composition; “Mr. Chalk is trying to get her a new place.”

“New place?” said Mrs. Chalk, in a choking voice.

Captain Brisket nodded.  “She ain’t happy where she is,” he explained, “and Mr. Chalk—­out o’ pure good-nature and kindness of heart—­is trying to get her another, and I honour him for it.”

He looked round triumphantly.  Mr. Chalk, sitting open-mouthed, was regarding him with the fascinated gaze of a rabbit before a boa-constrictor.  Captain Bowers was listening with an appearance of interest which in more favourable circumstances would have been very flattering.

“You said,” cried Mrs. Chalk—­“you said to my husband:  ’The fair Emily is yours.’”

[Illustration:  “You said to my husband:’The fair Emily is yours.’”]

“So I did,” said Brisket, anxiously—­“so I did.  And what I say I stick to.  When I said that the—­that Emily was his, I meant it.  I don’t say things I don’t mean.  That isn’t Bill Brisket’s way.”

“And you said just now that he was getting her a place,” Mrs. Chalk reminded him, grimly.

“Mr. Chalk understands what I mean,” said Captain Brisket, with dignity.  “When I said ‘She is yours,’ I meant that she is coming here.”

“O-oh!” said Mrs. Chalk, breathlessly.  “Oh, indeed!  Oh, is she?”

“That is, if her mother’ll let her come,” pursued the enterprising Brisket, with a look of great artfulness at Mr. Chalk, to call his attention to the bridge he was building for him; “but the old woman’s been laid up lately and talks about not being able to spare her.”

Mrs. Chalk sat back helplessly in her chair and gazed from her husband to Captain Brisket, and from Captain Brisket back to her husband.  Captain Brisket, red-faced and confident, sat upright on the edge of his chair as though inviting inspection; Mr. Chalk plucked nervously at his fingers.  Captain Bowers suddenly broke silence.

“What’s her tonnage?” he inquired abruptly, turning to Brisket.

“Two hundred and for——­”

Captain Brisket stopped dead and, rubbing his nose hard with his forefinger, gazed thoughtfully at Captain Bowers.