The tearful smile, so winsome, so appealing, was irresistible. "Damme, you ’re right!" cried the Admiral, surrendering at discretion. "You’ve swept me fore and aft! You’ve blown me out of the sea! By George, Ma’am, I ’ll marry you if you ’ll have me!" Once more, as when he saved her cat, Mrs. Poskett threw her comfortable arms round Sir Peter’s neck. "I ’ll have you, Peter," she cried joyfully; and she added in a tone which clinched the matter, "I’ve got you!" There was an eloquent silence. The old elm shook its leaves with a ripple of laughter. It had seen many things in its long life, but never anything so epically grand as the widow’s victory and the Admiral’s surrender. Troy town was besieged in vain during ten long years, and was then only conquered by a horse. Five years Mrs. Poskett had besieged Sir Peter and her victory was due to a cat. You seize the analogy? When you remember, further, that Basil had been inveigled by a parrot, you will realise the danger—or utility, according to your point of view—of keeping domestic pets: the undoubted risk of having any commerce with other peoples’ domestic pets—especially if they are Greeks or widows. I mean, the people. The Admiral was conquered, and like a gentleman, he made the best of his defeat. That is the way to turn it into a moral victory. "I ’ll haul out the brass gun and fire it to-night!" he cried, enthusiastically. "That’ll tell the Walk!" "I ’ll tell the Walk!" said Mrs. Poskett, masking her quite legitimate triumph under renewed endearments. They say drowning men see all their past lives in a flash. As the Admiral felt Mrs. Poskett’s arms tighten round his neck, he had a similar experience. All the eyes he had ever looked into seemed to be gazing reproachfully at him out of the darkness; all the names he had ever whispered seemed now to be whispering in his ear. Dolores, Inez, Mariette, Suzette, Paquita, Frederike, Jette, Karen—I know not how many more—like a swarm of bees they buzzed around him. Then, too, he suddenly remembered that upstairs in his old sailor’s chest; the chest that had accompanied him all over the world, there was a splendid and varied assortment of locks of hair: black, brown, golden, auburn, frankly red, straw-coloured, chestnut, and one off which the dye had faded and shown it uncompromisingly grey. He must remember to destroy them before—well, before the door was knocked through.