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.

“The Fair Emily is a ship,” said the latter to Mrs. Chalk.

“A ship!” cried the bewildered woman.  “A ship living with her invalid mother and coming to my husband to get her a place!  Are you trying to screen him, too?”

“It’s a ship,” repeated Captain Bowers, sternly, as he sought in vain to meet the eye of Mr. Chalk;” a craft of two hundred and something tons.  For some reason—­best known to himself—­Mr. Chalk wants the matter kept secret.”

“It—­it isn’t my secret,” faltered Mr. Chalk.

“Where’s she lying?” said Captain Bowers.

Mr. Chalk hesitated.  “Biddlecombe,” he said, at last.

Captain Brisket laughed noisily and, smacking his leg with his open hand, smiled broadly upon the company.  No response being forthcoming, he laughed again for his own edification, and sat good-humouredly waiting events.

“Is this true, Thomas?” demanded Mrs. Chalk.

“Yes, my dear,” was the reply.

“Then why didn’t you tell me, instead of sitting there listening to a string of falsehoods?”

“I—­I wanted to give you a surprise—­a pleasant little surprise,” said Mr. Chalk, with a timid glance at Captain Bowers.  “I have bought a share in a schooner, to go for a little cruise.  Just a jaunt for pleasure.”