"Oh! you naughty old thing!" cried Cissie Boye. "It's you who are in my flat."
"But I came in last night," quavered Mr. Stiffson.
"So did I—didn't I, Mr. Porter?" She turned to Bindle for corroboration.
"Take my dyin' oath on it, miss," said Bindle.
"But——" began Mr. Stiffson, then stopped, at loss how to proceed.
"Look 'ere," said Bindle pleasantly, "there's been a little mistake, sort of a misunderstandin', an' things 'ave got a bit mixed. You can say it's me wot's done it if you like. Now you'd better both get dressed an' come an' 'ave breakfast." Then turning to Mr. Stiffson he said, "Don't you think o' meetin' your missis on an empty stomach. I'm married myself, an' Mrs. B.'s as 'ot as ginger when there's another bit o' skirt about."
Cissie Boye slowly approached Mr. Stiffson. "You're surely not afraid of little me, Mr. Man?" she enquired, looking deliciously impudent.
That was exactly what Mr. Stiffson was afraid of, and he edged nearer to Bindle.
"But Mrs. Stiffson——" he stammered, regarding Cissie Boye like one hypnotised.
"Oh! you naughty old thing!" admonished Miss Boye, enjoying Mr. Stiffson's embarrassment. "You come into my flat, then talk about your wife," and she laughed happily.