For two days did Mr. Wilks do good by stealth, leaving Ann to blush to find it fame; but on the third day at dinner, as the captain took up his knife and fork to carve, he became aware of a shadow standing behind his chair. A shadow in a blue coat with metal buttons, which, whipping up the first plate carved, carried it to Mrs. Kingdom, and then leaned against her with the vegetable dishes. The dishes clattered a little on his arm as he helped the captain, but the latter, after an impressive pause and a vain attempt to catch the eye of Mr. Wilks, which was intent upon things afar off, took up the spoon and helped himself. From the unwonted silence of Miss Nugent in the presence of anything unusual it was clear to him that the whole thing had been carefully arranged. He ate in silence, and a resolution to kick Mr. Wilks off the premises vanished before the comfort, to say nothing of the dignity, afforded by his presence. Mr. Wilks, somewhat reassured, favoured Miss Nugent with a wink to which, although she had devoted much time in trying to acquire the art, she endeavoured in vain to respond. It was on the day following this that Jack Nugent, at his sister’s instigation, made an attempt to avenge the family honour. Miss Nugent, although she treated him with scant courtesy herself, had a touching faith in his prowess, a faith partly due to her brother occasionally showing her his bicep muscles in moments of exaltation. “There’s that horrid Jem Hardy,” she said, suddenly, as they walked along the road. “So it is,” said Master Nugent, but without any display of enthusiasm. “Halloa, Jack,” shouted Master Hardy across the road. [Illustration: “The suspense became painful.”] “Halloa,” responded the other. “He’s going to fight you,” shrilled Miss Nugent, who thought these amenities ill-timed; “he said so.” Master Hardy crossed the road. “What for?” he demanded, with surprise. “Because you’re a nasty, horrid boy,” replied Miss Nugent, drawing herself up. “Oh,” said Master Hardy, blankly. The two gentlemen stood regarding each other with uneasy grins; the lady stood by in breathless expectation. The suspense became painful. “Who are you staring at?” demanded Master Nugent, at last. “You,” replied the other; “who are you staring at?” “You,” said Master Nugent, defiantly. There was a long interval, both gentlemen experiencing some difficulty in working up sufficient heat for the engagement. “You hit me and see what you’ll get,” said Master Hardy, at length. “You hit me,” said the other. “Cowardy, cowardy custard,” chanted the well-bred Miss Nugent, “ate his mother’s mustard. Cowardy, cowardy cus—” “Why don’t you send that kid home?” demanded Master Hardy, eyeing the fair songstress with strong disfavour. “You leave my sister alone,” said the other, giving him a light tap on the shoulder. “There’s your coward’s blow.” Master Hardy made a ceremonious return. “There’s yours,” he said. “Let’s go behind the church.”