about to suggest, ma'am, that--travel-stained as I am--a wash
and a shave would be even more refreshing."

"H'm! You're one of those people--eh?--that study appearances?"
(In the art of disconcerting by simple interrogation I newer knew
Miss Belcher's peer, whether for swiftness, range, or variety.)
"Brought a razor with you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Take him to the house, Harry; but first show me where the hens have
been laying."

Half an hour later, as Captain Branscome, washed, brushed, and
freshly shaven, descended to the breakfast-parlour, Miss Belcher
entered the house by the back door, with her hat full of new-laid
eggs.

"Nothing like a raw egg to start the day upon," she announced.
"I suck 'em, for my part; but some prefer 'em beaten up in a dish of
tea."

She suited the action to the word, and beat up one in the Captain's
teacup while Plinny carved him a slice of ham.

"Ladies," he protested, "I am ashamed. I do not deserve this
hospitality. If you would allow me first to tell my story!"

"_You're_ all right," said Miss Belcher. "Couldn't hurt a fly, if
you wanted to. There! Eat up your breakfast, and then you can tell
us all about it."

The two ladies had, each in her way, a knack of making her meaning
clear without subservience to the strict forms of speech.

"It will be a weight off one's mind," declared Plinny, "even if it
should prove to be the last straw."

"There's one thing to be thankful for," chimed in Miss Belcher,
"and that is, Jack Rogers has gone to St. Mawes. When there's
serious business to be discussed I always thank a Providence that
clears the men out of the way."

I glanced at Captain Branscome. Assuredly he had come with no
intention at all of unbosoming himself before a couple of ladies.
He desired--desired desperately, I felt sure--to confide in me alone.
But Miss Belcher's off-handish air of authority completely nonplussed
him; he sat helplessly fidgeting with his breakfast-plate.

"To tell you the truth, ladies," he began, "I had not expected this--
this audience. It finds me, in a manner of speaking, unprepared."
He ran a finger around the edge of his saucer after the manner of one
performing on the musical glasses, and threw a hunted glance at the
window, as though for a way of escape. "My name, ladies, is
Branscome. I was once well-to-do, and commanded a packet in the
service of his Majesty's Postmasters-General. But times have altered
with me, and I am now an