They were standing so, in a silence hard to break, harder still to keep up, when Pete himself came back, like a rush of wind, and welcomed Philip with both hands. “Sit, boy, sit,” he cried; “not that one--this aisy one. Mine? Well, if it's mine, it's yours. Not had dinner, have you? Neither have I. Any cold mate left, Kitty? No? Fry us a chop, then, darling.” Kate had recovered herself by this time, and she went out on this errand. While she was away, Pete rattled on like a mill-race--asked about the travels, laughed about the girls, and roared about Mrs. Gorry and her ghost of Philip. “Been buying a Nickey at Peel to-day, Phil,” he said; “good little boat--a reg'lar clipper. Aw, I'm going to start on the herrings myself next sayson sir, and what for shouldn't I? Too many of the Manx ones are giving the fishing the goby. There's life in the ould dog yet, though. Would be, anyway, if them rusty Kays would be doing anything for the industry. They're building piers enough for the trippers, but never a breakwater the size of a tooth-brush for the fishermen. That's reminding me, Phil--the boys are at me to get you to petition the Tynwald Court for better harbours. They're losing many a pound by not getting out all weathers. But if the child doesn't cry, the mother will be giving it no breast. So we mane to squall till they think in Douglas we've got spavined wind or population of the heart, or something. The men are looking to you, Phil. 'That's the boy for us,' says they. 'He's stood our friend before, and he'll do it again,' they're saying.” Philip promised to draw up the petition, and then Mrs. Gorry came in and laid the cloth. Kate, meanwhile, had been telling herself that she had not done well. Where was the satisfaction she had promised herself on the night of her wedding-day, when she had seen Philip from the height of a great revenge, if she allowed him to think that she also was suffering? She must be bright, she must be gay, she must seem to be happy and in love with her husband. She returned to the hall-parlour with a smoking dish, and a face all sunshine. “I'm afraid they're not very good, dear,” she said. “Chut!” said Pete; “we're not particular. Phil and I have roughed it before to-day.”