“Not at all.”  Cai turned in wrath on his friend.

“I do think you might help, instead of standin’ there and—­”

“Can’t I accept both?” suggested Mrs Bosenna sweetly.

“No, you certainly can’t, ma’am. . . .  And since the letters seemin’ly haven’t reached you yet, we’d both of us take it as a favour if you’d hand ‘em back to us without lookin’ inside ’em.  We—­we want to try again, and send something calkilated to please you better.  ’Tis a queer request, I’ll grant you.”

“It is,” she agreed, cutting him short.  “But what’s the matter with the letters?  Did you put any bad language into them by any chance?”

“Ma’am!” exclaimed Cai.

“Bad language?” protested ’Bias.  “Why, to begin with, ma’am, I never use it.  The language is too good, in a way, an’ that’s our trouble; only Cai, here, won’t out with it, but keeps beatin’ about the bush.  You see, we went to Mr Benny for it.”

“You went to Mr Benny?” she echoed as he hesitated.  “For what, pray?”

“For the letters, ma’am.  Unbeknowns to one another we went to Mr Benny—­Mr Peter Benny—­he havin’ a gift with his pen—­” ’Bias hesitated again, faltered, and came to a stop, aware that Mrs Bosenna’s smile had changed to a frown; that she was regarding him with disapproval in her eyes, and that a red spot had declared itself suddenly upon either cheek.

“You don’t seem to be makin’ very good weather of it either,” Cai taunted him; and with that, glancing at her for confirmation, he too noticed her changed expression and was dumb.

“Are you tellin’ me,”—­she seated herself stiffly, and they stood like culprits before her.  “Are you tellin’ me this is a game?”

“A—­a what, ma’am?”

“A game!” She stamped her foot.  “You’ve been makin’ the town’s mock o’ me with Peter Benny’s help—­is that what you two funny seamen have walked up here to confess?”

“There was no names given, ma’am,” stammered Cai.  “I do assure you—­”

“No names given!” Mrs Bosenna in a temper was terribly handsome.  Her indignation so overawed the pair, as to rob them of all presence of mind for the moment.  After all, where lay the harm in asking Mr Benny to word a simple invitation?  Since the letters had not reached her, she could suspect no worse; and why, then, all this fuss?  So they might have reasoned it out, had not conscience held them cowards—­conscience and a creeping cold shade of mutual distrust.  “No names given!” repeated the lady.  “And I’m to believe that, just as I’m to believe, sir,”—­she addressed herself stiffly to ’Bias—­“that you never used bad language in your life!”

“I didn’ say that, ma’am—­not exactly,” urged the bewildered ’Bias.  “I dunno what’s this about bad language.  Who’s been usin’ bad language?  Not me.”

“Not since your prize-fightin’ days, perhaps, Captain Hunken.”

“My prize-fightin’ days?  My pr—­Whoever told you, ma’am, as ever I had any, or behaved so?”