[Illustration:  “Mr. Stiles was affecting a stateliness of manner which was not without distinction.”]

“It’s a very small place to ask you to, Admiral Peters,” said the widow, offering him a chair.

“It’s comfortable, ma’am,” said Mr. Stiles, looking round approvingly.  “Ah, you should see some of the palaces I’ve been in abroad; all show and no comfort.  Not a decent chair in the place.  And, as for the antimacassars——­”

“Are you making a long stay, Admiral Peters?” inquired the delighted widow.

“It depends,” was the reply.  “My intention was just to pay a flying visit to my honest old friend Burton here—­best man in my squadron—­but he is so hospitable, he’s been pressing me to stay for a few weeks.”

“But the admiral says he must get back to-morrow morning,” interposed Mr. Burton, firmly.

“Unless I have a letter at breakfast-time, Burton,” said Mr. Stiles, serenely.

Mr. Burton favoured him with a mutinous scowl.

“Oh, I do hope you will,” said Mrs. Dutton.

“I have a feeling that I shall,” said Mr. Stiles, crossing glances with his friend.  “The only thing is my people; they want me to join them at Lord Tufton’s place.”

Mrs. Dutton trembled with delight at being in the company of a man with such friends.  “What a change shore-life must be to you after the perils of the sea!” she murmured.

“Ah!” said Mr. Stiles.  “True!  True!”

“The dreadful fighting,” said Mrs. Dutton, closing her eyes and shuddering.

“You get used to it,” said the hero, simply.  “Hottest time I had I think was at the bombardment of Alexandria.  I stood alone.  All the men who hadn’t been shot down had fled, and the shells were bursting round me like—­like fireworks.”

The widow clasped her hands and shuddered again.

“I was standing just behind ’im, waiting any orders he might give,” said Mr. Burton.

“Were you?” said Mr. Stiles, sharply—­“were you?  I don’t remember it, Burton.”

“Why,” said Mr. Burton, with a faint laugh, “I was just behind you, sir.  If you remember, sir, I said to you that it was pretty hot work.”

Mr. Stiles affected to consider.  “No, Burton,” he said, bluffly—­“no; so far as my memory goes I was the only man there.”

“A bit of a shell knocked my cap off, sir,” persisted Mr. Burton, making laudable efforts to keep his temper.

“That’ll do, my man,” said the other, sharply; “not another word.  You forget yourself.”

He turned to the widow and began to chat about “his people” again to divert her attention from Mr. Burton, who seemed likely to cause unpleasantness by either bursting a blood-vessel or falling into a fit.

“My people have heard of Burton,” he said, with a slight glance to see how that injured gentleman was progressing.  “He has often shared my dangers.  We have been in many tight places together.  Do you remember those two nights when we were hidden in the chimney at the palace of the Sultan of Zanzibar, Burton?”