“I never scandalised you,” he answered.  “In fact I done all in my power to remove the impression.”  Feeling this to be infelicitous—­in a sort of despair with his tongue, which had taken a twist and could say nothing aright this morning—­he made haste to add in a tone at once easy and awkward, “It’s my belief, ’Bias, as your parrot ain’t fit to be left alone with females.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to wring his neck anyway,” promised ’Bias; “and, if some folks aren’t careful, maybe I won’t stop with his.”

Cai, though with rising temper, kept his nonchalance.  “With you and me the creatur’ don’t feel the temptation, and consikently there’s a side of his character hidden from us.  But in female company it comes out.  You may depend that’s the explanation.”

“Why, of course it is,” chimed in Mrs Bosenna with sudden—­suspiciously sudden—­conviction.  “How clever of Captain Hocken to think of it!”

“Yes, he’s clever,” growled ’Bias, unappeased.  “Oh, he’s monstrous clever, ma’am, is Caius Hocken!  Such a friend, too! . . .  And now, perhaps, he’ll explain how it happened—­he bein’ so clever and such a friend—­as he didn’t find this out two nights ago and warn me?”

“I did warn ye, ’Bias,” Cai’s face had gone white under the taunt.  “But I’ll admit to you I might have pitched it stronger. . . .  If you remember, on top of discussin’ the parrot we fell to discussin’ something—­something more important to both of us; and that drove the bird out o’ my head.  It never crossed my mind again till bedtime, and then I meant to warn ye next day at breakfast.”

“You’re good at explanations, this mornin’,” sneered ’Bias.  “Better fit there was no need, and you’d played fair.”

“’Played fair’!”—­Cai flamed up at last—­“I don’t take that from you, ’Bias Hunken, nor yet from any one!  You fell into your own trap—­that’s what happened to you. . . .  ‘Played fair’?  I suppose you was playin’ fair when you sneaked off unbeknowns and early to Rilla that mornin’, after we’d agreed—­”

“Well?” asked ’Bias, as Cai came to a halt.

“You know well enough what we agreed,” was Cai’s tame conclusion.

“Where’s the bird, ma’am?” asked ’Bias dully.  Both men felt that all was over between them now, though neither quite understood how it had happened.  “It—­it seems I’ve offended you, and I ask your pardon.  As for my doin’ this o’ purpose—­well, you must believe it or not.  That’s as conscience bids ye. . . .  But one warnin’ I’ll give—­ A bad friend don’t us’ally make a good husband.”

He motioned to Dinah to lead the way to the parlour, and so, with a jerk of the head, took his leave, not without dignity.

Mrs Bosenna promptly burst into tears.

Cai, left alone with her and with the despair in his heart, slowly (scarce knowing what he did) drew forth a red spotted handkerchief and eyed it.  Maybe he had, to begin with, some intention of proffering it.  But he stood still, a figure of woe, now glancing at Mrs Bosenna, anon staring fixedly at the handkerchief as if in wonder how it came in his hand.  He noted, too, for the first time that the tall clock in the corner had an exceptionally loud tick.