“I don’t know what they saw in me, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Wheeler, with a little modest laugh; “it wasn’t my good looks, I’m sure.” “You ’ad something better than good looks, my dear,” said the dock-foreman, affectionately, “something what’s wore better.” Mrs. Wheeler turned on the sofa, and detecting Gussie in the act of using his mouth as a moneybox, upbraided him shrilly and sent him into a corner. She then brought sundry charges of omission and commission against the other children, until the air was thick with denials and explanations, in the midst of which Fraser turned towards Poppy. “I want to have a few minutes’ talk with you, Miss Tyrell,” he said, nervously. The girl looked up at him. “Yes,” she said, gravely. “I mean alone,” continued the other, marvelling at his hardihood; “it’s private.” He lowered his voice from a shout to its normal tone as Emma Wheeler in self-defence opened the door and drove the small fry out. “I’ve not got my rooms now,” said the girl, quietly. “Well, my dear—” began the dock-foreman. “Don’t interfere, father,” said Mrs. Wheeler somewhat sharply. “I’m sure Mr. Fraser needn’t mind saying anything before us. It’s nothing he’s ashamed of, I’m sure.” “Certainly not,” said Fraser, sternly, “but it’s quite private for all that. Will you put your hat on and come out a little way, Miss Tyrell?” “That I’m sure she won’t,” said the energetic Mrs. Wheeler. “She’s that particular she won’t even go out with Bob, and they’re like brother and sister almost. Will she, Bob?” Mr. Bob Wheeler received the appeal somewhat sullenly, and in a low voice requested his parent not to talk so much. Fraser, watching Poppy closely, saw with some satisfaction a tinge of colour in her cheek, and what in any other person he would have considered a very obstinate appearance about her shapely chin. “I’ll get my hat on, if you’ll wait a minute,” she said, quietly. She rose and went upstairs, and Fraser with a cheerful glance at Mrs. Wheeler entered into conversation with her husband about overside work in the docks, until the door was pushed open a little to reveal Miss Tyrell ready for walking. They walked on for some little time in silence. The sun had set, and even in the close streets of Poplar the evening air was cool and refreshing. When this fact had thoroughly impressed itself on Mr. Fraser’s mind he communicated it to Miss Tyrell. “It’s very pleasant,” she answered, briefly. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” “About a lot of things,” said Fraser. “What a tremendous lot of children there are about here.” Miss Tyrell coldly admitted an obvious fact, and stepping out into the road to avoid spoiling a small maiden’s next move at “hop scotch,” returned to the pavement to listen to a somewhat lengthy dissertation upon the game in question. “What did you want to say to me?” she asked at length, turning and regarding him.