“Isn’t it good luck to hear you say that you are glad I’m here?” said Catesby.

“You’re the best judge of that,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand.  “It doesn’t seem to me much to be pleased about.”

Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about to address another tender remark to her when she was overcome by a slight fit of coughing.  At the same moment he started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in the passage.  Somebody tapped at the door.

“Yes?” said Prudence.

“Can’t find the knife-powder, miss,” said a harsh voice.  The door was pushed open and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about forty.  Her red arms were bare to the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences of a long and arduous day’s charing.

“It’s in the cupboard,” said Prudence.  “Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Porter?”

Mrs. Porter made no reply.  Her mouth was wide open and she was gazing with starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby.

“Joe!” she said, in a hoarse whisper.  “Joe!”

Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence.  Miss Truefitt, with an air of great surprise, glanced from one to the other.

“Joe!” said Mrs. Porter again.  “Ain’t you goin’ to speak to me?”

Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless astonishment.  She skipped clumsily round the table and stood before him with her hands clasped.

“Where ’ave you been all this long time?” she demanded, in a higher key.

“You—­you’ve made a mistake,” said the bewildered Richard.

“Mistake?” wailed Mrs. Porter.  “Mistake!  Oh, where’s your ’art?”

Before he could get out of her way she flung her arms round the horrified young man’s neck and em-braced him copiously.  Over her bony left shoulder the frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realised the trap into which he had fallen.

“Mrs. Porter!” said Prudence.

“It’s my ’usband, miss,” said the Amazon, reluctantly releasing the flushed and dishevelled Richard; “’e left me and my five eighteen months ago.  For eighteen months I ’aven’t ’ad a sight of ’is blessed face.”

She lifted the hem of her apron to her face and broke into discordant weeping.

“Don’t cry,” said Prudence, softly; “I’m sure he isn’t worth it.”

Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly.  He was beyond further astonishment, and when Mrs. Truefitt entered the room with a laudable attempt to twist her features into an expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed her.

“It’s my Joe,” said Mrs. Porter, simply.

“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Truefitt.  “Well, you’ve got him now; take care he doesn’t run away from you again.”

“I’ll look after that, ma’am,” said Mrs. Porter, with a glare at the startled Richard.

[Illustration:  “I’ll look after that, ma’am.”]

“She’s very forgiving,” said Prudence.  “She kissed him just now.”