Captain Trimblett, taking the largest radish he could find, pushed it into his mouth and sat gazing at him in consternation. He had used up two musical instruments in less than a week. “You’re getting fond of music in your old age,” said Mrs. Chinnery, tartly. “But you always are late nowadays. When it isn’t music it’s something else. What’s come over you lately I can’t think.” Mr. Truefitt cleared his throat for speech, and then, thinking better of it, helped himself to some bread and butter and went on with his meal. His eyes met those of Captain Trimblett and then wandered away to the window. The captain sprang into the breach. “He wants a wife to keep him in order,” he said, with a boldness that took Mr. Truefitt’s breath away. “Wife!” exclaimed Mrs. Chinnery. “Peter!” She put down her cup and laughed—a laugh so free from disquietude that Mr. Truefitt groaned in spirit. “He’ll go off one of these days.” said the captain with affected joviality. “You see if he don’t.” Mrs. Chinnery laughed again. “He’s a born bachelor,” she declared. “Why, he’d sooner walk a mile out of his way any day than meet a woman. He’s been like it ever since he was a boy. When I was a girl and brought friends of mine home to tea, Peter would sit like a stuffed dummy and never say a word.” “I’ve known older bachelors than him to get married,” said the captain. “I’ve known ’em down with it as sudden as heart disease. In a way, it is heart disease, I suppose.” “Peter’s heart’s all right,” said Mrs. Chinnery. “He might drop down any moment,” declared the captain. Mr. Truefitt, painfully conscious of their regards, passed his cup up for some more tea and made a noble effort to appear amused, as the captain cited instance after instance of confirmed bachelors being led to the altar. “I broke the ice for you to-day,” he said, as they sat after tea in the little summer-house at the bottom of the garden, smoking. Mr. Truefitt’s gaze wandered across the river. “Yes,” he said, slowly, “yes.” “I was surprised at myself,” said the captain. “I was surprised at you,” said Mr. Truefitt, with some energy. “So far as I can see, you made it worse.” The captain started. “I did it for the best, my lad,” he said, reproachfully. “She has got to know some day. You can’t be made late by cornets and bagpipes every day.” Mr. Truefitt rumpled his short gray hair. “You see, I promised her,” he said, suddenly. “I know,” said the captain, nodding. “And now you’ve promised Miss Willett.” “When they brought him home dead,” said Mr. Truefitt, blowing out a cloud of smoke, “she was just twenty-five. Pretty she was then, cap’n, as pretty a maid as you’d wish to see. As long as I live, Susanna, and have a home, you shall share it’; that’s what I said to her.” The captain nodded again.