"Come in, Christopher," pleaded Mrs. Korner, "please come in, and let
me shut the door."

Mrs. Korner was the type of young lady fond of domineering with a not
un-graceful hauteur over those accustomed to yield readily to her; it
is a type that is easily frightened.

"I wan' grilled kinneys-on-toast," explained Mr. Korner, exchanging
the knocker for the hat-stand, and wishing the next moment that he had
not. "Don' let's 'avareytalk about it. Unnerstan'? I dowan' any
talk about it."

"What on earth am I to do?" whispered the terrified Mrs. Korner to her
bosom friend, "there isn't a kidney in the house."

"I should poach him a couple of eggs," suggested the helpful bosom
friend; "put plenty of Cayenne pepper on them. Very likely he won't
remember."

Mr. Korner allowed himself to be persuaded into the dining-room, which
was also the breakfast parlour and the library. The two ladies,
joined by the hastily clad staff, whose chronic indignation seemed to
have vanished in face of the first excuse for it that Acacia Villa had
afforded her, made haste to light the kitchen fire.

"I should never have believed it," whispered the white-faced Mrs.
Korner, "never."

"Makes yer know there's a man about the 'ouse, don't it?" chirped the