"What in the name of—! All right. I'll come down."
They saw a light struck; in a minute they saw framed in the doorway a tall man in pyjamas, holding a candle.
"Come in, Smith," he cried. "Why, what the—! Here, I say, I won't be a minute."
Setting down the candle on the doorstep, he hurriedly fled. Smith glanced at the girl. She was quite unembarrassed, and when she caught his eye she frankly smiled. "She's the right sort," he said to himself. Presently Mr. Daventry returned in trousers and a smoking jacket.
"Excuse my leaving you. I went to—to waken Mary," he said. "She'll be down in a minute; come in. Didn't know you were married, old boy," he whispered, taking Smith by the arm.
"Hush!" said Smith anxiously, hoping that Margaret Bunce had not caught the words.
Mr. Daventry led them into his dining-room, turned on the lights, and looked inquiringly at his visitors. The girl was already unpinning her low cloth hat.
"Why, what on earth—!" exclaimed Mr. Daventry; "what have you been doing to yourself, Smith?"
"I am a bit of a sweep, no doubt, but you can give me a bath. The fact is—well, it's plaguey difficult to tell it shortly—but the fact is I picked up this lady—no, hang it all! Miss Bunce, please help me out."
"Mr. Smith picked me up, as he says, from a burning ship in mid-ocean, and was kind enough to bring me here in his aeroplane."