(In point of fact, Mrs. Buzza had been judged too red in the eyes to accompany the Admiral.)

“Ever since I beheld you and your husband—­whom I do not see” (here the Admiral stared ferociously under a table), “but who, I trust, is in health—­for the first time in church yesterday”—­ (Oh, Admiral Buzza!)—­“I have been forcibly reminded of an expression in one of our British poets, which runs—­Sophia, how the devil does it run?”

Neither of the Misses Buzza had the faintest idea.  Their father’s efforts to remember it were interrupted by Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, who begged them, with a charming smile, to be seated.

“My husband,” she said, “will be down in a minute or two.  It is really most kind of you to call; for, as strangers, we are naturally anxious to hear about the place and its people.”

Her voice, which was low and musical, came with the prettiest trip upon the tongue.  There was just the faintest shade of brogue in it—­ for instance, she said “me husband”—­but I cannot attempt to reproduce it.

Upon this hinted desire for information, the Admiral bestowed his cocked-hat under the chair, and began—­

“Our small town, ma’am, may be viewed in many aspects—­as an emporium of commerce, a holiday centre, or a health resort.  In our trade you would naturally, with your tastes, find little interest.  It is rather our scenic advantages, our romantic fortresses, our river (pronounced by many to equal the Rhine), our mild atmosphere—­”

“On the contrary, I take the greatest interest in your trade.”

The Admiral lifted his brows and smiled, as one who would imply “You are kind enough to say so, but really, with your high connections, that can hardly be seriously believed.”  What he said was—­

“It is indeed good of you to interest yourself in our simple tastes.  We are (I confess it) to some degree—­ahem!—­mercantile, and as citizens of Troy esteem it our duty to acquaint ourselves (theoretically) with the products of other lands.  To this end I have had all my daughters carefully grounded in the ’Child’s Guide to Knowledge.’  Jane, my dear, what is Gamboge?”

“A vegetable, gummy juice, of a most beautiful yellow colour, chiefly brought from Gambodia in the East Indies,” repeated Jane, with a glance at her gown.

“You see, ma’am,” explained her father with a wave of the hand, “it is a form of instruction in which the rawness of the material is to some extent veiled by a clothing of picturesque accessories.  This will be even more noticeable in the case of Soy.  Calypso, inform Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys of the humorous illusion under which our seamen labour with regard to Soy.”

But at this point the door opened, and Mr. Samuel Buzza entered, with Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys himself.

The introductions were gone through; the Admiral let off another speech of welcome, and plunged with the Honourable Frederic into a long discussion of Troy, its scenery and neighbourhood; the three girls sat bolt upright, each on the edge of her chair; and their brother took his hostess’ extended hand with a bashful grin.