fast which'll all be over before your missis turns up at
ten o'clock, see! You can trust me, married myself I am," he added as
if to explain his breadth of view in such matters.

"But I can't----" began Mr. Stiffson.

"Oh, yes you can, sir, an' wot's more you'll like it." Bindle gently
propelled the protesting Mr. Stiffson past Cissie Boye towards his
room.

"Don't forget now, in a quarter of an hour, I'll be up with the coffee
an' bacon an' eggs. You're a rare lucky cove, sir, only you don't know
it."

"I'm so hungry," wailed Cissie Boye.

"Of course you are, miss," said Bindle sympathetically. "I'll get a
move on."

"Oh! isn't he delicious," gurgled Cissie Boye. "Isn't he a perfect
scream; but how did he get here, Mr. Porter?"

"Well, miss, the only wonder to me is that 'alf Fulham ain't 'ere to
see you a-lookin' like that. Now you jest get a rinse in your room
an'----"

"A rinse, what's that?" enquired Cissie.

"You does it with soap an' water, miss, an' you might add a bit or two
of lace, jest in case the neighbours was to come in. Now I must be
orf. Old Sedgy ain't at 'er best after them 'alf days with Royal
Richard. Don't let 'im nip orf, miss, will you?" Bindle added
anxiously. "'E's that modest an' retirin' like, that e' might try."

At that moment Mr. Stiffson put his head out of his door. "Porter!" he
stammered, "Oscar has not had his breakfast; it's on the kitchen
mantelpiece." He shut the door hurriedly.

"Oscar's got to wait," muttered Bindle as he hurried downstairs.

Ten minutes later he had the gas-stove lighted in the sitting-room,
and coffee, eggs and bacon, bread and butter, strawberry jam and
marmalade ready on the table.

Miss Boye emerged from her room, a vision of loveliness in a pale-blue
teagown, open at the throat, with a flurry of white lace cascading
down the front. There was a good deal of Cissie Boye visible in spite
of the lace. She still wore her matinee cap with the blue ribbons, and
Bindle frankly envied Mr. Stiffson.

"Now, sir," he cried, banging at the laggard's door, "the coffee and
the lady's waitin', an' I want to feed Oscar."

Mr. Stiffson came out timidly. He evidently realised the importance of
the occasion. He wore a white satin tie reposing beneath a low collar
of nonconformity, a black frock-coat with a waistcoat that had been
bought at a moment of indecision as to whether it should be a morning
or evening affair, light trousers, and spats.

"My, ain't