Mr. Mortimer stood erect, in a declamatory attitude, with his back to the exiguous fire.  In the pauses of his delivery, failing to draw response from Sam, he glanced down at his wife for approval.  But she too, seated on a low stool, made pretence to be absorbed in her knitting; and her upward look, when her lord compelled it, expressed deep sympathy rather than assent.

“Consequently,” perorated Mr. Mortimer, “I conceive my personal obligations to Mr. Hucks to be satisfied; practically satisfied, even in law; as keen men of business, and allowing for contingencies, satisfied abundantly.  To liquidate the seven pounds fifteen and six owing to your master you have, on your own admission, six-seven-nine in hand.  We—­my Arabella and I—­are offered a fortnight here at forty-four shillings per week between us.  Not princely, I own.  But suffer me to remind you that it realises the dream, as perchance it affords the opportunity, of a lifetime.  She will be Ophelia.  She, the embodiment (I dare to say it) of Shakespeare’s visionary heroine, will realise his conception here, on this classic ground.  And if, at short notice, I must content myself with doubling the parts of Guildenstern and First Gravedigger, believe me I do so cheerfully, pending fuller—­er—­recognition.”

“My Stanislas demeans himself by accepting them,” said Mrs. Mortimer, still with her eyes on her knitting.

“I should hope so, my poppet.  Still, there is Fat in the First Gravedigger; and as our Gallic neighbours put it, everything comes to him who knows how to wait.”

“All very well,” observed Sam, withdrawing the pipe from his mouth.  “But ’ow about the children?  I put it to you, ma’am.”

“Ah, poor things!” sighed Mrs. Mortimer, and hesitated.  She was about to say more, when her husband interrupted—­

“I trust—­I sincerely trust—­that my failings, such as they are, have ever leaned to the side of altruism.  Throughout life I have been apt to injure myself in befriending others; and you see “—­Mr. Mortimer flourished a hand—­“where it has landed me.  We have convoyed these children to Stratford, to use the language of commerce, as per contract.  To ask me—­to ask Mrs. Mortimer—­to dance attendance upon them indefinitely, at the sacrifice of these golden prospects—­”

But at this point someone tapped at the door.

“Come in!” called Sam, swinging around in his chair, and with that, jumping to his feet, let out a cheerful “hooray!”

“Same to you,” said Tilda, nodding, as she admitted Arthur Miles and closed the door behind him.  “Anything to eat in this public?”

“I’ll order in supper at once,” said Sam.

“No you won’t; not for five minutes any’ow.  Well, ’ere we are—­and ’ow ‘ave you three been gettin’ along since I saw yer last?”

“Oh, we’re all right; but all the better for seein’ you.  That’s understood.”