"Do I mean?" repeated Mr. Kybird, naturally indignant that his very
plain speaking should be deemed capable of any misconstruction. "Am I
speaking to a stock or a stone, Teddy?"

Mr. Silk took a deep breath, and buttoned up his coat, as though
preparing to meet Mr. Nugent there and then in deadly encounter for the
person of Miss Kybird. The colour was back in his cheeks by this time,
and his eyes were unusually bright. He took a step towards Mr. Kybird
and, pressing his hand warmly, pushed him back into his seat again.

"There's 'er pride to consider, Teddy," said the latter gentleman, with
the whisper of a conspirator.

"She can't stand being talked about all over the town and pointed at."

"Let me see anybody a-pointing at 'er," said the truculent Mr. Silk; "let
me see 'em, that's all."

"That's the way to talk, Teddy," said Mr. Kybird, gazing at him with
admiration.

"Talk!" said the heroic Mr. Silk. "I'll do more than talk." He clenched
his fists and paced boldly up and down the hearthrug.

"You leave things to me," said Mr. Kybird, with a confidential wink.
"I'll see that it's all right. All I ask of you is to keep it a dead
secret; even your mother mustn't know."

"I'll be as secret as the grave," said the overjoyed Mr. Silk.