still light enough for him to see her face, and he piloted the corybantic
Mr. Stiles the rest of the way home in a mood which accorded but ill with
his steps.

His manner at breakfast next morning was so offensive that Mr. Stiles,
who had risen fresh as a daisy and been out to inhale the air on the
cliffs, was somewhat offended.

"You go down and see her," he said, anxiously. "Don't lose a moment; and
explain to her that it was the sea-air acting on an old sunstroke."

"She ain't a fool," said Mr. Burton, gloomily.

He finished his breakfast in silence, and, leaving the repentant Mr.
Stiles sitting in the doorway with a pipe, went down to the widow's to
make the best explanation he could think of on the way. Mrs. Dutton's
fresh-coloured face changed as he entered the shop, and her still good
eyes regarded him with scornful interrogation.

"I--saw you last night," began Mr. Burton, timidly.

"I saw you, too," said Mrs. Dutton. "I couldn't believe my eyesight at
first."

"It was an old shipmate of mine," said Mr. Burton. "He hadn't seen me
for years, and I suppose the sight of me upset 'im."

"I dare say," replied the widow; "that and the Cock and Flowerpot, too.
I heard about it."