But the man who behaved most strangely of all was Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. That magnificent creature showed all the symptoms of a guilty conscience. It is true he strutted about the Walk, dressed as faultlessly as ever, swung his tassled cane with much of his old elegance, and took snuff with all the airy grace imaginable. And yet—and yet—! Somehow, his clothes seemed to hang loosely on him. Somehow, his hat, though poised at a rakish angle, no longer conveyed the old devil-may-care impression. His face no longer beamed with unassailable self-satisfaction. There was a furtive look in his eyes, as though he were constantly on the watch. It is a low comparison to apply, but if you have ever seen a dog who knows he has just stolen a piece of meat, you have seen Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. Once, when the Admiral, who was stubbornly resisting the universal depression, came up behind him unobserved and suddenly slapped him on the back, he screamed—he positively screamed. "Thought the Bow-street runners was after you?" roared the Admiral heartily. But the tone of fury with which he replied "Certainly not, sir! How dare you?" was so sincere that Sir Peter did not pursue the joke. Evidently he had indeed thought the runners were after him. The Walk was like a drooping flower, and even the Eyesore felt the depressing influence; he fished less hopefully than ever, and it was noticed that he interrupted his fishing more frequently for excursions outside the bounds of Pomander Walk: excursions from which he returned wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and returned each time perhaps a trifle less steadily. Now, all these good people had lost their usual good spirits and their cheery outlook on life merely because one little girl had left off laughing; and she had left off laughing because one very young man had not kept his word.