With this dire threat, and turning occasionally to bestow another fierce glance upon the steward, she walked to the door and, opening it to its full extent, closed it behind her with a crash and darted across the alley to her own house. The two men gazed at each other without speaking, and then Mr. Wilks, stepping over to the door, turned the key in the lock. “You’re not afraid of Teddy?” said the staring Nugent. “Teddy!” said Mr. Wilks, snapping his huge fingers. “I’m not afraid o’ fifty Teddies; but she might come back with ’im. If it ’adn’t ha’ been for you, sir, I don’t know wot wouldn’t ’ave happened.” “Go and draw some beer and get me a clean pipe,” said Nugent, dropping into a chair. “We’ve both been mercifully preserved, Sam, and the best thing we can do is to drink to our noble selves and be more careful for the future.” Mr. Wilks obeyed, and again thanking him warmly for his invaluable services sat down to compile a few facts about his newly acquired wife, warranted to stand the severest cross-examination which might be brought to bear upon them, a task interspersed with malicious reminiscences of Mrs. Silk’s attacks on his liberty. He also insisted on giving up his bed to Nugent for the night. “I suppose,” he said later on, as Mr. Nugent, after a faint objection or two, took his candle—“I suppose this yarn about my being married will get about?” “I suppose so,” said Nugent, yawning, as he paused with his foot on the stair. “What about it?” “Nothing,” said Mr. Wilks, in a somewhat dissatisfied voice. “Nothing.” “What about it?” repeated Mr. Nugent, sternly. “Nothing, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, with an insufferable simper. “Nothing, only it’ll make things a little bit slow for me, that’s all.” Mr. Nugent eyed him for a space in speechless amazement, and then, with a few strong remarks on ingratitude and senile vanity, mounted the winding little stairs and went to bed. CHAPTER XXV The day after Mr. Silk’s sudden and unexpected assertion of his marital rights Mr. Kybird stood in the doorway of his shop, basking in the sun. The High Street was in a state of post-prandial repose, and there was no likelihood of a customer to interfere with his confidential chat with Mr. Nathan Smith, who was listening with an aspect of great severity to his explanations. “It ought not to ’ave happened,” he said, sharply. “It was Teddy done it,” said Mr. Kybird, humbly. Mr. Smith shrugged his shoulders. “It wouldn’t ’ave happened if I’d been there,” he observed, arrogantly. “I don’t see ’ow” began Mr. Kybird. “No, o’ course you don’t,” said his friend. “Still, it’s no use making a fuss now. The thing is done. One thing is, I don’t suppose it’ll make any diff——” “Difference,” suggested Mr. Kybird, after waiting for him to finish.