chair a little
closer to her, and then glanced thoughtfully at his friend.

"Burton," he said.

"Sir," snapped the other.

"Run back and fetch my pipe for me," said Mr. Stiles. "I left it on the
mantelpiece."

Mr. Burton hesitated, and, the widow happening to look away, shook his
fist at his superior officer.

"Look sharp," said Mr. Stiles, in a peremptory voice.

"I'm very sorry, sir," said Mr. Burton, whose wits were being sharpened
by misfortune, "but I broke it."

"Broke it?" repeated the other.

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Burton. "I knocked it on the floor and trod on it
by accident; smashed it to powder."

Mr. Stiles rated him roundly for his carelessness, and asked him whether
he knew that it was a present from the Italian Ambassador.

"Burton was always a clumsy man," he said, turning to the widow. "He had
the name for it when he was on the _Destruction_ with me; 'Bungling
Burton' they called him."

He divided the rest of the evening between flirting and recounting
various anecdotes of Mr. Burton, none of which were at all flattering
either to his intelligence or to his sobriety, and the victim, after one
or two futile attempts at contradiction, sat in helpless wrath as he saw
the infatuation of the widow. They were barely clear of the house before
his pent-up emotions fell in an avalanche of words on the faithless Mr.
Stiles.

"I can't help being good-looking," said the latter, with a smirk.

"Your good looks wouldn't hurt anybody," said Mr. Burton, in a grating
voice; "it's the admiral business that fetches her. It's turned 'er
head."

Mr. Stiles smiled. "She'll say 'snap' to my 'snip' any time," he
remarked. "And remember, George, there'll always be a knife and fork
laid for you when you like to come."

"I dessay," retorted Mr. Burton, with a dreadful sneer. "Only as it
happens I'm going to tell 'er the truth about you first thing to-morrow
morning. If I can't have 'er you sha'n't."

"That'll spoil your chance, too," said Mr. Stiles. "She'd never forgive
you for fooling her like that. It seems a pity neither of us should get
her."

"You're a sarpent," exclaimed Mr. Burton, savagely--"a sarpent that I've
warmed in my bosom and----"

"There's no call to be indelicate, George," said Mr. Stiles, reprovingly,
as he paused at the door of the house. "Let's sit down and talk it over
quietly."

Mr. Burton followed him into the room and, taking a chair, waited.

"It's evident she's s