"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.

Mr. Burton adopted the air for his own use as soon as they were clear of
Mrs. Dutton's doorstep, and in good round terms demanded of Mr. Stiles
what he meant by it.