“You know what landladies are,” he interposed. “Always on the make. So long as they can over-charge you, that’s all they want. I don’t mean anything personal,” he added quickly, and rose from the easy chair. “It’s a fine moonlight night,” he went on; “I shall just take a turn round and get a mouthful of fresh air.” “I haven’t been outside the front door to-day.” “I’ll wait for you,” he whispered, “a few houses off.” “Martha,” she cried severely, “do you see what the time is? Pack off to bed this minute, and I’ll come up and hear you say your prayers. Bid ‘Good-night’ to Mr. Swan, and thank him prettily for what he gave you.” “Bring a bigger bunch next time,” said the child shrilly. Swan, walking up and down on the pavement, was hailed by one or two colleagues on their way home, who asked to be informed whether he had succeeded in recovering young Mannering’s box: he contented himself by replying to the effect that negotiations were in progress, and that a full report would be made in the morning. They predicted that he had for once bitten off more than he could chew. “This takes me back,” she remarked brightly, as she came up, “I shouldn’t like to say how long. Wonder whether I can get your step?” “You’ll get accustomed to it,” he replied. “Any objection to me smoking?” “I love a pipe! Oh, but,” with sudden agitation, “I didn’t say you could take my arm! Whatever will the neighbours think?” “They’ll think what a lucky one I am.” “Mr. Swan, you seem to have an answer ready for everything!” She announced half an hour later that she did not feel in the least tired, adding a belief that she could go on walking for ever; but Swan, who needed his supper, was firm, and at her door mentioned that he was early duty all the current week. She offered her hand and thanked him for his kindness; he held it and asked determinedly where and when could he see her again. Surely, she retorted, surely once was enough! Once, Swan announced, was by no means enough—twenty thousand times would not, in his opinion, be reckoned sufficient. “You must think I’m simple to believe that!” she said. “What about to-morrow?” he asked, ignoring the assertion. “Would you care to come in the evening and have something to eat before the child goes to bed?” Porter Swan, in a moment of inspiration, kissed her hand, thus striking the exactly right note, and she declared she seemed to have known him for years. Would Mr. Swan do her one favour? “Command me!” he begged. Would he mind taking that lad’s box away with him, and leaving it at the station or somewhere? The sight of it on the morrow would recall bitter words that she wished to drive from her memory. “I don’t mind obliging you,” said Swan, feigning reluctance, “to that extent.”