He drew her arm once more within his own, and they descended the hill together.
Stealing like ghosts into the front hall of No.

2, Alma Villas, they were startled to perceive the dining-room door ajar, and a light shining out into the passage.

Creeping forward on tip-toe, they peeped in.
Beside the table and with his back towards them, sat the Admiral in his dressing-gown.

His right hand grasped the throat of the double-bass, on the top of which nodded Mrs.Buzza's night-cap.
His left fumbled with a large miniature that lay on the table before him--a portrait of Mrs.Buzza, taken in the days when she was still Emily Rogers and the Belle of Portsmouth; and from this to the instrument and back again the Admiral's gaze wandered, as if painfully comparing the likeness.
[Illustration: With his back towards them sat the Admiral.] "Hornaby!" This was the Admiral's Christian name.
"Emily!" He turned and stared at her stupidly.

The look was pitiful.
She flung herself before him.
"Forgive me, Hornaby! I never thought--I mean, it was all a--" "Practical joke," suggested Sam.
"No, no.