There was an awkward pause. Fortunately at this moment Jim created a diversion by bringing the third pewter. To his amazement Mrs. Poskett promptly seized it. "For me? How thoughtful of you!" she cried; and while Sir Peter and Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked on too much astonished to speak, she drained it as to the manner born.
"Jim, another," grunted the Admiral.
But Mrs. Poskett protested. "Oh, no, I could n't! Reely and posivitely I could n't!"
"We was expecting Mr. Pringle, ma'am," said the Admiral, stiffly.
But the hint was entirely lost. "Ah, poor Mr. Pringle! Poor fellow! An unhappy life, I fear; and him with one shoulder higher than the other. Not that you notice it much when you look at him sideways. There. I was rather alarmed when he arrived a month ago. Can't be too careful, and me a lone woman. A musician, you know. One never knows what their morals may be."
"Hoho!" shouted Sir Peter, "he's quiet enough—except when he 's making a noise!"
Mrs. Poskett looked puzzled. She never could see a joke.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn received it with his customary stony stare and at once broke in. "He is some sort of cousin to the Misses Pennymint, I am told?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Poskett, with a sniff, "we are told. But who knows?—I fear—" she sank her voice to a mysterious whisper—"I fear he is—hush!—a lodger!"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was genuinely shocked. "You don't say so!"