Out of doors Troy still laughed at the mishap.  The whole story was soon related (with infinite humour) by the unfilial Sam.  Down at the “Man-o’-War,” in the bar-parlour, for seven days it formed the sole topic of discussion; and Mr. Moggridge (who ought to have respected Sophia’s father) even wrote a humorous ode upon the theme, beginning—­

     “Ye gods and little fishes . . .”

and full of the quaintest conceits.  For seven days, from dawn to nightfall, the river off Kit’s House was crowded with boat-loads of curious gazers, and the Steam-Tug Company (Limited) neglected its serious business to run special excursions to the scene of the catastrophe.

The Trojan maidens especially would stare at the Notice by the half-hour (that being the time allowed by the Steam-Tug Company), and hope, with much blushing and giggling, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Fogo.  But the hermit remained steadily indoors.

Meanwhile the Admiral sulked in bed, and nursed his ill-humour.  On Tuesday he was strangely softened and quiet; but:—­

On Wednesday he recovered, and began to bully his wife as fiercely as ever.

On Thursday he broke the bell-rope again, and the servant gave warning.

On Friday he threatened to make his will, and refused his food.

On Saturday he was still fasting.

On Sunday he ate voraciously, drank four glasses of grog, and threw the wash-hand basin out of window.

On Monday Mrs. Buzza revolted, and took herself off, with the girls, to Miss Limpenny’s party.

Yes.  Miss Limpenny had mustered courage to put on her best brooch and call at “The Bower” with Lavinia.  Nor did her daring end here; it took the form of a little three-cornered note on that very evening, and on the next morning Mr. and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys accepted.

“Have great pleasure in accepting,” read Miss Limpenny to her sister.  “The very words.  I’m sure it’s most affable.”

“We must have cheesecakes—­the famous cheesecakes—­of course,” reflected Miss Lavinia, “and a dish of trifle, and jellies, and—­oh, Priscilla!”

“What, Lavinia?”

“Do you think a Tipsy Cake would be unbecoming?”

Miss Limpenny knit her brows over this bold proposal.

“I disapprove of the name,” she said.  “It has always seemed to me a trifle—­ahem!—­’fast,’ if I may call it so.  Still, we need not mention its name at supper, and the taste is undeniably grateful.  But, Lavinia, I was thinking of a more important matter.  Who are to be asked?”

“Why not everybody, Priscilla dear?”

“The Simpsons, for instance?  It is true his father was a respectable solicitor, and even Mayor of Devonport I have heard, but Mr. Simpson’s taste in badinage is such as I cannot always approve.  It is very well in Troy here, where everybody knows them, but the Goodwyn-Sandys are certain to be most particular, and, Lavinia, that crimson gown of hers!”