"Neatly done! You could get a well-paid job as pitcher-out at a West End bar, if you'd nothing better than your muscles to rely upon.... Wait a bit!" He vanished upstairs, walking as softly as a cat does, to return and explain:
"The pumps are at work up there! Both of 'em crying—Rahab's Daughter and Solomon's Virtuous Woman, I mean.... You remember the text? 'Her price is above rubies.' I remembered it when I saw her sitting dropping tears upon that trollop's head, that was a-lying in her lap. Well, well!" He led the way down into the kitchen, muttering, "'As golden pillars upon bases of silver, so are the firm feet upon the soles of a steady woman....' and 'Her husband's heart delighteth in her!' Sit down, you must want a breather ... 'Delighteth in her'—or would have if she'd married one capable of appreciating a character like hers."
Seeing that the mind of Mr. Knewbit was still running upon Miss Ling, P. C. Breagh ventured to ask:
"And has she never entertained any intention of——"
Mr. Knewbit nodded sagely.
"Once. You might say—there has been a Romance in her life, without exaggeration. When in service with that family of Nobs you've heard her mention,—about twenty-four years ago, when she was a strapping young woman of twenty-six—she got engaged to an underbutler—a young man with an affectionate nature and a changeable disposition, in conjunction with weak lungs. Weak lungs——"
Mr. Knewbit opened the oven-door and looked in to ascertain how the mutton and Yorkshire pudding were getting on. "I've had weak lungs myself, but never found 'em an excuse for villainy! Mph! ... Don't smell like burning—pretty right, it seems to me!"
He sat down in his Windsor arm-chair near the hearth, stretched out his carpet-slippered feet, and broke out:
"So—in the interests o' them weak lungs of his, his master's son, Lord Wallingbrook—to whom he sometimes acted as valet, took him in that capacity on a steam-yacht-trip from Plymouth, via Trinidad to the Southern Seas. And they cruised among the Islands of the Pacific for months—a gay party of bachelors amusing themselves!—and—in the Paumotu Group—this precious young man of Maria's up-stick and took French leave.... And that's all. And whether his master knew more than he'd tell—that's uncertain. Anyhow, a letter arrived six months after the steam-yacht dropped anchor at Plymouth, to say that he was safe and well and happy—but was never coming Home any more. And she believes ... 'Ssh! Here she is!"
It was Miss Ling, who had been crying, undoubtedly, for her Sunday bonnet-strings were spotted as with rain, and her clean handkerchief was reduced to a damp wad. Said she: