"Wife!" exclaimed Mrs. Chinnery. "Peter!"
She put down her cup and laughed—a laugh so free from disquietude that Mr. Truefitt groaned in spirit.
"He'll go off one of these days." said the captain with affected joviality. "You see if he don't."
Mrs. Chinnery laughed again. "He's a born bachelor," she declared. "Why, he'd sooner walk a mile out of his way any day than meet a woman. He's been like it ever since he was a boy. When I was a girl and brought friends of mine home to tea, Peter would sit like a stuffed dummy and never say a word."
"I've known older bachelors than him to get married," said the captain. "I've known 'em down with it as sudden as heart disease. In a way, it is heart disease, I suppose."
"Peter's heart's all right," said Mrs. Chinnery.
"He might drop down any moment," declared the captain.
Mr. Truefitt, painfully conscious of their regards, passed his cup up for some more tea and made a noble effort to appear amused, as the captain cited instance after instance of confirmed bachelors being led to the altar.
"I broke the ice for you to-day," he said, as they sat after tea in the little summer-house at the bottom of the garden, smoking.
Mr. Truefitt's gaze wandered across the river. "Yes," he said, slowly, "yes."