him at all. He must invent a more novel manner of return
than that. He was really fond of Little-sing. She suited him to
perfection. What he called her "fine-lady airs," when they were
displayed to any one but himself, pleased him mightily. He thought of
her as pretty and gracious and sweet. He really loved her after his
own fashion, and would do anything in his power to make her happy. But
he must, as he expressed it, have his joke.

Mrs. Martin was seated by the fire in the drawing-room. It was getting
late--nearly four o'clock; but, according to an expressed wish of
Bo-peep, the window-blinds had not yet been drawn down. He liked, as
he said, to see his home before he entered it. Mrs. Martin, therefore,
with the electric light on, was perfectly visible from the road. Mr.
Martin guessed that this would be the case, and he stopped the cab at
a little distance from the house, paid the fare, shouldered his bag,
and walked softly down the street. He went and stood outside the
window. He looked in. The street was a quiet one, and at that moment
there were no passers-by. Mrs. Martin was seated in her smart dress
which he had given her, with her profile towards him. He thought her
very beautiful indeed. His heart swelled with pride. She belonged to
him. He hated fine ladies, as a rule; but a fine lady who was his very
own was a different matter. He even felt romantic.

She was reading a letter. Who could have been writing to Little-sing?
Suddenly it occurred to him to slip down the area steps and stand
close under the window. He did so, to the terror of cook and Tildy.
Cook was about to scream, "Burglars!" but Tildy recognized her
master.

"It's his joke," she said. "'E's a wonderful man for jokes. Don't let
on to Mrs. Martin that 'e's 'ere for your life. 'E'll do something so
comic in a minute."

The comicality of Martin consisted, in the present instance, of
singing in a harsh baritone the song of the Troubadour:

"Gaily the Troubadour
Touched his guitar,
When he was hastening
Home from the war;
Singing, 'From Palestine
Hither I come.
Ladye love! ladye love!
Welcome me home.'"

Mrs. Martin gave a shriek. She had the presence of mind to pop her
letter into her pocket. Then she approached the window, trembling and
blushing. B