If Mr. Tredgold had been advancing on his head he could not have exhibited more surprise.

“I’m afraid I’m late,” said Tredgold, as he came up and shook hands.  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

The hapless captain coughed loud and long.  He emerged from a large red pocket-handkerchief to find the eye of Miss Drewitt seeking his.

“That’s all right, my lad,” he said, huskily.  “I’d forgotten about our arrangement.  Did I say this Sunday or next?”

“This,” said Mr. Tredgold, bluntly.

The captain coughed again, and with some pathos referred to the tricks which old age plays with memory.  As they walked on he regaled them with selected instances.

“Don’t forget your leg, uncle,” said Miss Drewitt, softly.

Captain Bowers gazed at her suspiciously.

“Don’t forget that it’s stiff and put too much strain on it,” explained his niece.

The captain eyed her uneasily, but she was talking and laughing with Edward Tredgold in a most reassuring fashion.  A choice portion of his programme, which, owing to the events of the afternoon, he had almost resolved to omit, clamoured for production.  He stole another glance at his niece and resolved to risk it.

“Hah!” he said, suddenly, stopping short and feeling in his pockets.  “There’s my memory again.  Well, of all the—­”

“What’s the matter, uncle?” inquired Miss Drewitt.

“I’ve left my pipe at home,” said the captain, in a desperate voice.

“I’ve got some cigars,” suggested Tredgold.

The captain shook his head.  “No, I must have my pipe,” he said, decidedly.  “If you two will walk on slowly, I’ll soon catch you up.”

“You’re not going all the way back for it?” exclaimed Miss Drewitt.

“Let me go,” said Tredgold.

The captain favoured him with an inscrutable glance.  “I’ll go,” he said, firmly.  “I’m not quite sure where I left it.  You go by Hanger’s Lane; I’ll soon catch you up.”

He set off at a pace which rendered protest unavailing.  Mr. Tredgold turned, and, making a mental note of the fact that Miss Drewitt had suddenly added inches to her stature, walked on by her side.

“Captain Bowers is very fond of his pipe,” he said, after they had walked a little way in silence.

Miss Drewitt assented.  “Nasty things,” she said, calmly.

“So they are,” said Mr. Tredgold.

“But you smoke,” said the girl.

Mr. Tredgold sighed.  “I have often thought of giving it up,” he said, softly, “and then I was afraid that it would look rather presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous?” repeated Miss Drewitt.

“So many better and wiser men than myself smoke,” exclaimed Mr. Tredgold, “including even bishops.  If it is good enough for them, it ought to be good enough for me; that’s the way I look at it.  Who am I that I should be too proud to smoke?  Who am I that I should try and set my poor ideas above those of my superiors?  Do you see my point of view?”