“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?”

Miss Drewitt made no reply.

“Of course, it is a thing that grows on one,” continued Mr. Tredgold, with the air of making a concession.  “It is the first smoke that does the mischief; it is a fatal precedent.  Unless, perhaps—­How pretty that field is over there.”

Miss Drewitt looked in the direction indicated.  “Very nice,” she said, briefly.  “But what were you going to say?”

Mr. Tredgold made an elaborate attempt to appear confused.  “I was going to say,” he murmured, gently, “unless, perhaps, one begins on coarse-cut Cavendish rolled in a piece of the margin of the Sunday newspaper.”

Miss Drewitt suppressed an exclamation.  “I wanted to see where the fascination was,” she indignantly.

“And did you?” inquired Mr. Tredgold, smoothly.

The girl turned her head and looked at him.  “I have no doubt my uncle gave you full particulars,” she said, bitterly.  “It seems to me that men can gossip as much as women.”

“I tried to stop him,” said the virtuous Mr. Tredgold.

“You need not have troubled,” said Miss Drewitt, loftily.  “It is not a matter of any consequence.  I am surprised that my uncle should have thought it worth mentioning.”