liked to get back to the comforts she was used to.  She knew very well she couldn’t gain by any change.  And, moreover, Colchester, though a first-rate man, was not what you may call in his first youth, and, perhaps, she may have thought that he wouldn’t be able to get hold of another (as he used to say) so easily.  Anyhow, for one reason or another, it was ‘Rubbish’ and ’Stuff and nonsense’ for the good lady.  I overheard once young Mr. Apse himself say to her confidentially:  ’I assure you, Mrs. Colchester, I am beginning to feel quite unhappy about the name she’s getting for herself.’  ‘Oh,’ says she, with her deep little hoarse laugh, ’if one took notice of all the silly talk,’ and she showed Apse all her ugly false teeth at once.  ’It would take more than that to make me lose my confidence in her, I assure you,’ says she.”

At this point, without any change of facial expression, Mr. Stonor emitted a short, sardonic laugh.  It was very impressive, but I didn’t see the fun.  I looked from one to another.  The stranger on the hearthrug had an ugly smile.

“And Mr. Apse shook both Mrs. Colchester’s hands, he was so pleased to hear a good word said for their favourite.  All these Apses, young and old you know, were perfectly infatuated with that abominable, dangerous—­”

“I beg your pardon,” I interrupted, for he seemed to be addressing himself exclusively to me; “but who on earth are you talking about?”

“I am talking of the Apse family,” he answered, courteously.

I nearly let out a damn at this.  But just then the respected Miss Blank put her head in, and said that the cab was at the door, if Mr. Stonor wanted to catch the eleven three up.

At once the senior pilot arose in his mighty bulk and began to struggle into his coat, with awe-inspiring upheavals.  The stranger and I hurried impulsively to his assistance, and directly we laid our hands on him he became perfectly quiescent.  We had to raise our arms very high, and to make efforts.  It was like caparisoning a docile elephant.  With a “Thanks, gentlemen,” he dived under and squeezed himself through the door in a great hurry.

We smiled at each other in a friendly way.

“I wonder how he manages to hoist himself up a ship’s side-ladder,” said the man in tweeds; and poor Jermyn, who was a mere North Sea pilot, without official status or recognition of any sort, pilot only by courtesy, groaned.

“He makes eight hundred a year.”

“Are you a sailor?” I asked the stranger, who had gone back to his position on the rug.

“I used to be till a couple of years ago, when I got married,” answered this communicative individual.  “I even went to sea first in that very ship we were speaking of when you came in.”

“What ship?” I asked, puzzled.  “I never heard you mention a ship.”