"Quite long enough for him, though not nearly long enough for me!" said the Manager. "I'll teach him to mix me up in these squabbles, when I find him, sir--when I find him! Here, steward, bring some more of these dry biscuits: you'll have some more, won't you?" But Peter was not in the vein for dry biscuits at that moment, and the Manager continued: "By-the-by, _you_ might help me in this if you only will. I want to find out if I can before we reach Gib, who this fellow is, but the less I talk about the affair the better." "Oh! yes," said Peter. "I--I wouldn't talk about it at all, if I were you." "No, I daresay you're right--can't be too careful with an old cat like that. Well, what I want you to do is to try and find out--quietly, you know--who this infernal fellow is!" "Well, I daresay I could do that," said Peter. "No one would think a mild, innocent-looking little chap like you had any particular motive for asking: you might ask some of the men in the smoking-room, and pick up some clue or other." "So I might," said Peter,--"good idea!" "Or, I'll tell you what--you might pump the old lady for me, eh?" "I don't think I quite care about pumping the old lady," said Peter, "but anything else I'll do with pleasure." "Thanks," said the Manager; "that's a good fellow. I knew I could depend upon you!" "You can," replied Peter, "though, I fancy," he added, soothingly,--"indeed, I am sure you will find that the old woman has made a good deal out of nothing at all." ... "_What_ old woman, Peter?" asked Sophia with drowsy asperity. "Not Mrs. Linden, surely!" Mrs. Linden! Was that the name of the old she-dragon of the music-room? Why, of course not; he was in his arm-chair by his own fire, reading Ibsen to his wife! "I don't know, indeed, my love--it _may_ be Mrs. Linden," he answered cautiously. "Nonsense!" said Sophia, crossly. "She's not meant to be old in the play, and _who_ says 'the old woman has made a good deal out of nothing'? Helmer, or Doctor Rank, or Krogstad, or who? You do read so badly, it's quite impossible to make out!" "_No_ one says it, my dear Sophia; at least, it's not in my edition of the text. You--you must have imagined it, I think!" "I certainly thought I heard you read it out," she replied; "but your voice is so monotonous, that it's just possible I dropped off for a minute or two." "I dropped off myself about the same time," he confessed hypocritically. "You wouldn't drop off, or allow me to drop off either, Peter," said Sophia, who was now thoroughly awake again, "if you felt a more intelligent interest in the tremendous problem Ibsen has set in this play. I don't believe you realise in the least what the lesson is that he means to teach; now _do_ you, Peter?" "Well, I'm not sure that I do altogether, my love," he admitted.