“I’m sure I wasn’t to know,” said her friend, “although I certainly thought it odd when Robert said that he had got it principally for you.  I could see you were a little bit flattered.”

Mrs. Chalk, trembling with anger, sought in vain for a retort.

“Well, it’s no good staying here,” said Mrs. Stobell, philosophically.  “We had better get home.”

“Home!” cried Mrs. Chalk, as a vision of her bare floors and dismantled walls rose before her.  “When I think of the deceitfulness of those men, giving us champagne and talking about the long evenings on board, I don’t know what to do with myself.  And your father was one of them,” she added, turning suddenly upon Edward.

Mr. Tredgold disowned his erring parent with some haste, and, being by this time rather tired of the proceedings, suggested that they should return to the inn and look up trains—­a proposal to which Mrs. Chalk, after a final glance seawards, silently assented.  With head erect she led the way down to the town again, her bearing being so impressive that George the waiter, who had been watching for them, after handing her a letter which had been entrusted to him, beat a precipitate retreat.

The letter, which was from Mr. Stobell, was short and to the point.  It narrated the artifice by which Mr. Chalk had been lured away, and concluded with a general statement that women were out of place on shipboard.  This, Mrs. Stobell declared, after perusing the letter, was intended for an apology.

Mrs. Chalk received the information in stony silence, and, declining tea, made her way to the station and mounted guard over her boxes until the train was due.  With the exception of saying “Indeed!” on three or four occasions she kept silent all the way to Binchester, and, arrived there, departed for home in a cab, in spite of a most pressing invitation from Mrs. Stobell to stay with her until her own house was habitable.

Mr. Tredgold parted from them both with relief.  The voyage had been a source of wonder to him from its first inception, and the day’s proceedings had only served to increase the mystery.  He made a light supper and, the house being too quiet for his taste, went for a meditative stroll.  The shops were closed and the small thoroughfares almost deserted.  He wondered whether it was too late to call and talk over the affair with Captain Bowers, and, still wondering, found himself in Dialstone Lane.

Two or three of the houses were in darkness, but there was a cheerful light behind the drawn blind of the captain’s sitting-room.  He hesitated a moment and then rapped lightly on the door, and no answer being forthcoming rapped again.  The door opened and revealed the amiable features of Mr. Tasker.

“Captain Bowers has gone to London, sir,” he said.

Mr. Tredgold drew his right foot back three inches, and at the same time tried to peer into the room.