“Lord,” said he, gazing down into the newly painted bath in No.1.  “To think of ‘Bias in the likes o’ this!”

“You may, if you care to,” said Fancy.

“’Tis a knack of mine,” he apologised.  “We’ll suppose him safely out of it, an’ what happens next?  Why, he’ll step across to the linen-cupboard here, wi’ the hot pipes behind it, an’ there’s a clean shirt dried an’ warmed to his skin.  He gets into that—­the day bein’ Sunday, as we’ll suppose—­an’ finishes his dressin’, danderin’ forth an’ back from one room to t’other; breakfast gettin’ ready downstairs an’ no hurry for it—­all his time his own, clean away to sundown.  Up above the lower window-sash here with the Prodigal Son in stained glass, and very thoughtful of the architect, too—­”

“It isn’t stained glass,” the child corrected; “it’s what they call a transparency.”

“I hope you’re mistaken. . . .  I must try it from the outside before I let ‘Bias undress here.  As I was sayin’, through the upper pane he’ll see his cabbages comin’ on at the back; an’ in the front, under his window, there’s the bread-cart—­”

“But you said ’twas Sunday.”

“So I did. . . .  Well, there’s the milk-cart anyway, an’ a boy janglin’ the cans.  You can’t think how pretty these shore-noises be to a sailor-man.  An’ down in the town the church bell goin’ for early Communion, but he’ll attend mornin’ service later on.  An’, across the road, there’s the garden, full o’ flowers, an’ smellin’—­an’ a blessed sense as he can pick an’ choose an’ take his time with it all.”  Captain Cai had wandered to the front window.  He let fall these last words slowly, in a kind of reverie, as he gazed out on the garden over which the twilight was fast gathering.

“With all this time on your hands, I reckon you won’t be takin’ a look round the garden?” hazarded Fancy.

“Certainly.  Why not?”

“Well, ‘tis drawin’ in dusk.  But there!  I wouldn’ disappoint Mrs Bosenna, if I was you.”

“Eh?”

“She’s been down in the garden this hour and more, waitin’ for you to take her by surprise.”

“Oh—­come now, I say!”

Fancy nodded her head.  “I don’t know as I blame her,” she said judicially.  “She’s curious to know what you look like, that’s all; or else she’s curious for you to know what she looks like.  Anyway, she’s down there, if you’ve a mind to be polite.”

Seeing that he hesitated, the child led the way.  Captain Cai followed her in something of a tremor.  Across the road they went and through the garden-gate; and the sound of their footsteps on the flagged pathway gave Mrs Bosenna warning.  By the time they reached the second terrace she was down on her knees again, packing the soil about the rose-bush, which Dinah obediently held upright for her.

“Losh, here’s visitors!” exclaimed Dinah.

Mrs Bosenna turned with the prettiest start of surprise, and sprang to her feet.  If there was a suspicion—­a shade—­of overacting, the twilight concealed it.  She had a charming figure, very supple and maidenly:  she bought her corsets in London.  The kneeling posture and the swift rise from it were alike noticeably graceful, even in the dusk.