“Oh law,” said Jessie, breaking from him hastily. “There’s some one----” She seized two plates upon the table, and made a bustling pretence at clearing away. On learning that it was a false alarm, she looked at him with a sort of slinking grace. “You’ve made my hair untidy,” she said reproachfully. He walked up to her, laughing. She backed from him with a grin. “Jess-ie,” came a cry from without. “It’s missus,” she said, terrified, going to the door. “Yes, mum.” “The man wants an answer for that letter he brought.” “Yes, mum,” she cried. “In a minute, mum. There’s an answer, sir. What’s the answer, sir?” Stukeley tore the paper open. A bill fell out. “Oh damn,” he exclaimed. “Tell him I’ll look in in the morning.” Jessie carried the message to the bearer; and returned with another. “Please, sir, the man says he won’t go unless he has his money, sir.” “Won’t he?” said Stukeley angrily. “I’ll see whether he won’t.” He picked up his cane and walked out swiftly. The servant listened at the door for the details of the quarrel. “Hark-ee,” came Stukeley’s voice. “Here’s your bill. D’ye see it? There!”--there came a sound of tearing paper--“Now take that back to your master. Next time you disturb me at breakfast I’ll break your head. Get out of this.” The haberdasher’s clerk withdrew. The landlady aided his retreat with a few words about not having her guests disturbed. Stukeley returned to his breakfast-room. Jessie looked at him admiringly. “Aha, Jessie,” he said. “What nice arms you’ve got. Eh? Haven’t you? Eh? Beautiful arms.” He pinched them, following her about as she backed to avoid him. “You’ve got a wife,” said Jessie. “What do you want with arms? Don’t! Don’t! You’ll make me scream out.” Again came the voice of the mistress. “Jessie! Jessie! Drat the girl.” The amorous by-play ceased; Jessie went swiftly. She soon returned, bringing a visitor, a coarse fair-haired man, with a face not unlike a horse’s face, but without the beauty. His cheeks were rather puffy; his eyelids drooped down over his eyes, so that he gave one the impression of extreme short sight, or of some eye-disease. He peered out under his eyelids. One felt that the house so lit was a dark, narrow, mean little thieves’ house. “Mr. Haly to see you, sir,” said Jessie. Mr. Haly entered, to find his friend Stukeley retiring through the other door. He turned back in the doorway on hearing the name. “Oh, it’s you, Monty,” he said. “What brings you to Salcombe?” “You took me for a dun,” said Mr. Haly, with a jocular whine peculiar to him. “You took me for a dun. I’ll sit down, if this pretty charmer here”--he ogled Jenny, with a look which would have made a wanton chaste--“will give me a chair. Thank you, my dear.” He sat down; Jessie left the room.