“Certainly not,” said Mr. Burton, in alarm.
“You don’t know how particular she is.”
Mr. Stiles sighed, and said that he would do the best he could without it. He spent most of the day on the beach smoking, and when evening came shaved himself with extreme care and brushed his serge suit with great perseverance in preparation for his visit.
Mr. Burton performed the ceremony of introduction with some awkwardness; Mr. Stiles was affecting a stateliness of manner which was not without distinction; and Mrs. Dutton, in a black silk dress and the cameo brooch which had belonged to her mother, was no less important. Mr. Burton had an odd feeling of inferiority.
“It’s a very small place to ask you to, Admiral Peters,” said the widow, offering him a chair.
“It’s comfortable, ma’am,” said Mr. Stiles, looking round approvingly. “Ah, you should see some of the palaces I’ve been in abroad; all show and no comfort. Not a decent chair in the place. And, as for the antimacassars——”
“Are you making a long stay, Admiral Peters?” inquired the delighted widow.
“It depends,” was the reply. “My intention was just to pay a flying visit to my honest old friend Burton here—best man in my squadron—but he is so hospitable, he’s been pressing me to stay for a few weeks.”