“Well, we must use the next room for to-night,” he said at last, “and I’ll have him out first thing in the morning.” “His housekeeper sleeps there,” said Mrs. Willett, shaking her head. “And a niece of hers, who helps her with him, in the little room,” added Mrs. Chinnery. Mr. Truefitt got up and walked about the room. Broken remarks about “a nice home-coming” and “galvanized mummies” escaped him at intervals. Mrs. Willett endured it for ten minutes, and then, suddenly remembering what was due to a mother-in-law, made a successful intervention. In a somewhat subdued mood they sat down to supper. The Truefitts slept at Mrs. Willett’s that night, but Mr. Truefitt was back first thing next morning to take possession of his own house. He found Captain Sellers, propped up with pillows, eating his breakfast, and more than dubious as to any prospects of an early removal. “Better wait a week or two and see how I go on,” he said, slowly. “I sha’n’t give any trouble.” “But you are giving trouble,” shouted the fuming Mr. Truefitt. “You’re an absolute nuisance. If it hadn’t been for your officiousness it wouldn’t have happened.” The captain put his plate aside and drew himself up in the bed. “Get out of my room,” he said, in a high, thin voice. “You get out of my bed,” shouted the incensed Mr. Truefitt. “I’ll give you ten minutes to dress yourself and get out of my house. If you’re not out by then, I’ll carry you out.” He waited downstairs for a quarter of an hour, and then, going to the bed-room again, discovered that the door was locked. Through the keyhole the housekeeper informed him that it was the captain’s orders, and begged him to go away as the latter was now having his “morning’s nap.” Captain Sellers left with flags flying and drums beating three days later. To friends and neighbours generally he confided the interesting fact that his departure was hastened by a nightly recurring dream of being bitten by sharks. CHAPTER XXIV THE news that Mrs. Chinnery had taken a house of her own and was anxious to let rooms, gave Robert Vyner an idea which kept him busy the whole of an evening. First of all he broached it to Hartley, but finding him divided between joy and nervousness he took the matter into his own hands and paid a visit to Tranquil Vale; the result of which he communicated with some pride to Joan Hartley the same afternoon. “It was my own idea entirely,” he said with a feeble attempt to conceal a little natural pride. “Some people would call it an inspiration. Directly I heard that Mrs. Chinnery was anxious to let rooms I thought of your children—I mentioned the idea to your father and escaped an embrace by a hair’s breadth. I was prepared to remind him that ’Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ and to follow it up with ’Distance lends enchantment to the view’; but it was unnecessary. It will be a great thing for Mrs. Chinnery.” Miss Hartley looked thoughtful. “And you,” said Robert reproachfully.