"Ah!" said the other, severely. "But what was I there for, my man?"
Mr. Burton could not tell him; he could only stare at him in a frenzy of passion and dismay.
"What were you there for, Admiral Peters?" inquired Mrs. Dutton.
"I was there, ma'am," said the unspeakable Mr. Stiles, slowly—"I was there to save the life of Burton. I never deserted my men—-never. Whatever scrapes they got into I always did my best to get them out. News was brought to me that Burton was suffocating in the chimney of the Sultan's favourite wife, and I——"
"Sultan's favourite wife!" gasped Mrs. Dutton, staring hard at Mr. Burton, who had collapsed in his chair and was regarding the ingenious Mr. Stiles with open-mouthed stupefaction. "Good gracious! I—I never heard of such a thing. I am surprised!"
"So am I," said Mr. Burton, thickly. "I—I—-"
"How did you escape, Admiral Peters?" inquired the widow, turning from the flighty Burton in indignation.
Mr. Stiles shook his head. "To tell you that would be to bring the French Consul into it," he said, gently. "I oughtn't to have mentioned the subject at all. Burton had the good sense not to."
The widow murmured acquiescence, and stole a look at the prosaic figure of the latter gentleman which was full of scornful curiosity. With some diffidence she invited the admiral to stay to supper, and was obviously delighted when he accepted.
In the character of admiral Mr. Stiles enjoyed himself amazingly, his one regret being that no discriminating theatrical manager was present to witness his performance. His dignity increased as the evening wore on, and from good-natured patronage of the unfortunate Burton he progressed gradually until he was shouting at him. Once, when he had occasion to ask Mr. Burton if he intended to contradict him, his appearance was so terrible that his hostess turned pale and trembled with excitement.