When she was quite alone Mrs. Martin took that letter of Maggie's, which she had received during her husband's absence, from her pocket. She was terrified lest Bo-peep should read it. The letter had offended her. Maggie had written with great fire and distress: "You must not let him come here. All will be up with me if he is seen at the school. For the sake of my own father, keep him from Aylmer House." Mrs. Martin slipped it back into her pocket, and then sat by her comfortable drawing-room fire waiting for the arrival of the good Bo-peep. He was a very playful creature. His one idea of happiness consisted in endless jokes--practical jokes or otherwise, just as it suited him at the moment. He had done a very successful stroke of business in Liverpool, and was returning to Laburnum Villa in the highest spirits. While he was in the train he was planning how he could most effectively announce his return. To ring at his own hall-door, or to open it with a latch-key, or to walk in in the ordinary fashion of the master of the house did not content him at all. He must invent a more novel manner of return than that. He was really fond of Little-sing. She suited him to perfection. What he called her "fine-lady airs," when they were displayed to any one but himself, pleased him mightily. He thought of her as pretty and gracious and sweet. He really loved her after his own fashion, and would do anything in his power to make her happy. But he must, as he expressed it, have his joke. Mrs. Martin was seated by the fire in the drawing-room. It was getting late--nearly four o'clock; but, according to an expressed wish of Bo-peep, the window-blinds had not yet been drawn down. He liked, as he said, to see his home before he entered it. Mrs. Martin, therefore, with the electric light on, was perfectly visible from the road. Mr. Martin guessed that this would be the case, and he stopped the cab at a little distance from the house, paid the fare, shouldered his bag, and walked softly down the street. He went and stood outside the window. He looked in. The street was a quiet one, and at that moment there were no passers-by. Mrs. Martin was seated in her smart dress which he had given her, with her profile towards him. He thought her very beautiful indeed. His heart swelled with pride. She belonged to him. He hated fine ladies, as a rule; but a fine lady who was his very own was a different matter. He even felt romantic. She was reading a letter. Who could have been writing to Little-sing? Suddenly it occurred to him to slip down the area steps and stand close under the window. He did so, to the terror of cook and Tildy. Cook was about to scream, "Burglars!" but Tildy recognized her master. "It's his joke," she said. "'E's a wonderful man for jokes. Don't let on to Mrs. Martin that 'e's 'ere for your life. 'E'll do something so comic in a minute."