"Come in! She won’t budge from the house if she sees you here. Pamela will warn us, when she’s got her, and," ruefully, "she’ll get her, fast enough." They turned to go towards Sir Peter’s house; but Lord Otford stopped short, in surprise. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had opened his upstairs window and was leaning out, fanning himself with his handkerchief. "Hoskyn, by all that’s wonderful!" said Lord Otford, eyeing unconscious Brooke-Hoskyn through his lorgnette. Sir Peter corrected him. "Brooke-Hoskyn; with a hyphen. I said you must know him." "Know him!" cried Lord Otford, laughing, "Know my old butler! I should think so!" "What?" asked the Admiral, not believing his ears. "He married my cook, Mrs. Brooke! And now he ’s City toast master." Sir Peter gave a low whistle. "That’s it, is it?" What a triumph! "When the Walk knows that—!" "That’s your man of fashion, is it, Peter?" laughed Lord Otford. But the Admiral was thinking. "No!" he cried, suddenly, "Damme! No! he’s a good fellow, and I’m not a blackguard!—Jack, follow my lead." He made a speaking-trumpet with his hands and roared, as if Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had been a mile away, "Ahoy! Brooky, my boy! Here ’s your old friend, Otford." Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn nearly fell out of the window. "Glad to see you, Hoskyn," said Lord Otford, cheerfully, with an amiable wave of his hand. "Oh, don’t!" groaned Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, hoarsely. "Oh, my Lord!—Not at this moment! I ain’t equal to it, your Lordship! I reely ain’t!" "Sorry you’re ill," said Lord Otford, with a pleasant laugh. "Too much to eat, and too little to do. What you want is a family to keep you lively!" "A family!" almost shrieked Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "Oh, my Lord!" He disappeared abruptly from the window, and Lord Otford and the Admiral went arm-in-arm and laughing heartily into the latter’s house. It was now quite dark in the Walk: the translucent darkness of a perfect June night. The stillness was so great that you could hear the river lapping against the bank as it flowed by. Behind the tower of Chiswick Church the sky shone pale, but, above, it melted into purple in which the stars seemed to hang loose. Even the leaves of the elm had ceased to whisper together and had gone to sleep. Here and there in the Walk a faint light appeared behind drawn blinds and closed curtains. Presently the bow window of the Misses Pennymint’s house was gently opened, and Barbara and Basil appeared. Their arms were twined round each other, and Barbara’s pretty head reposed against her lover’s shoulder. Framed in the jasmine that encircled the window, they made as touching a picture as you could wish to see. They stood quite still, inhaling the fragrance of the slumbering elm, and thinking thoughts unutterable. As they opened their window Jack opened his. He was famished, and there was no sign of Marjolaine. Could she have forgotten him? "’On such a night as this—’" began Basil, in his richest and deepest notes.