"Emily, get up!"

She did so.

"You are wet, my love," she ventured timorously.

"_Wet!_ Woman, is this the time for airy _persiflage?_"

"My love," replied Mrs. Buzza, meekly, "nothing was further from my
thoughts."

The Admiral glared upon her for a moment, but the retort died upon
his lips. He flung his hands out with an appealing gesture and
something like a sob.

"Emily," he cried, hoarsely, "Troy has laughed at me again. Put me
to bed."

O forgiving heart of woman! In a moment her arms were about him, and
her tears mingling with the general dampness of the Admiral's
costume. Then, having wept her fill, she smiled a little, dried her
eyes, and put the Admiral to bed.

Out of doors Troy still laughed at the mishap. The whole story was
soon related (with infinite humour) by the unfilial Sam. Down at the
"Man-o'-War," in the bar-parlour, for seven days it formed the sole
topic of discussion; and Mr. Moggridge (who ought to have respected
Sophia's father) even wrote a humorous ode upon the theme,
beginning--