“I can’t help being good-looking,” said the latter, with a smirk.

“Your good looks wouldn’t hurt anybody,” said Mr. Burton, in a grating voice; “it’s the admiral business that fetches her.  It’s turned ’er head.”

Mr. Stiles smiled.  “She’ll say ‘snap’ to my ‘snip’ any time,” he remarked.  “And remember, George, there’ll always be a knife and fork laid for you when you like to come.”

“I dessay,” retorted Mr. Burton, with a dreadful sneer.  “Only as it happens I’m going to tell ’er the truth about you first thing to-morrow morning.  If I can’t have ’er you sha’n’t.”

“That’ll spoil your chance, too,” said Mr. Stiles.  “She’d never forgive you for fooling her like that.  It seems a pity neither of us should get her.”

“You’re a sarpent,” exclaimed Mr. Burton, savagely—­“a sarpent that I’ve warmed in my bosom and——­”

“There’s no call to be indelicate, George,” said Mr. Stiles, reprovingly, as he paused at the door of the house.  “Let’s sit down and talk it over quietly.”

Mr. Burton followed him into the room and, taking a chair, waited.

“It’s evident she’s struck with me,” said Mr. Stiles, slowly; “it’s also evident that if you tell her the truth it might spoil my chances.  I don’t say it would, but it might.  That being so, I’m agreeable to going back without seeing her again by the six-forty train to-morrow morning if it’s made worth my while.”

“Made worth your while?” repeated the other.

“Certainly,” said the unblushing Mr. Stiles.  “She’s not a bad-looking woman—­for her age—­and it’s a snug little business.”

Mr. Burton, suppressing his choler, affected to ponder.  “If ’arf a sovereign—­” he said, at last.

“Half a fiddlestick!” said the other, impatiently.  “I want ten pounds.  You’ve just drawn your pension, and, besides, you’ve been a saving man all your life.”

“Ten pounds?” gasped the other.  “D’ye think I’ve got a gold-mine in the back garden?”

Mr. Stiles leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet.  “I don’t go for a penny less,” he said, firmly.  “Ten pounds and my ticket back.  If you call me any more o’ those names I’ll make it twelve.”

“And what am I to explain to Mrs. Dutton?” demanded Mr. Burton, after a quarter of an hour’s altercation.

“Anything you like,” said his generous friend.  “Tell her I’m engaged to my cousin, and our marriage keeps being put off and off on account of my eccentric behaviour.  And you can say that that was caused by a splinter of a shell striking my head.  Tell any lies you like; I shall never turn up again to contradict them.  If she tries to find out things about the admiral, remind her that she promised to keep his visit here secret.”

For over an hour Mr. Burton sat weighing the advantages and disadvantages of this proposal, and then—­Mr. Stiles refusing to seal the bargain without—­shook hands upon it and went off to bed in a state of mind hovering between homicide and lunacy.