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“Carrying on like one o’clock,” said the imaginative Mr. Stokes. “Called one of ’em his little wife, and asked her where ‘er wedding-ring was. ”

“I didn’t,” said Mr. Bell, in a suffocating voice. “I didn’t. ”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Mr. Stokes, virtuously. “Only, as I said to you at the time, ‘Alfred,’ I says, ‘it’s all right for you as a single man, but you might be the twin-brother of a pal o’ mine— George Henshaw by name—and if some people was to see you they might think it was ‘im.’ Didn’t I say that?”

“You did,” said Mr. Bell, helplessly.

“And he wouldn’t believe me,” said Mr. Stokes, turning to Mrs. Henshaw. “That’s why I brought him round to see George. ”

“I should like to see the two of ’em together myself,” said Mrs. Henshaw, quietly. “I should have taken him for my husband anywhere. ”

“You wouldn’t if you’d seen ‘im last night,” said Mr. Stokes, shaking his head and smiling.

“Carrying on again, was he?” inquired Mrs. Henshaw, quickl
y.

“No!” said Mr. Bell, in a stentorian whisper.

His glance was so fierce that Mr. Stokes almost quailed. “I won’t tell tales out of school,” he said, nodding.

“Not if I ask you to?” said Mrs. Henshaw, with a winning smile.

“Ask ‘im,” said Mr. Stokes.

“Last night,” said the whisperer, hastily, “I went for a quiet walk round Victoria Park all by myself. Then I met Mr. Stokes, and we had one half-pint together at a public-house. That’s all. ”

Mrs. Henshaw looked at Mr. Stokes. Mr. Stokes winked at her.

“It’s as true as my name is—Alfred Bell,” said that gentleman, with slight but natural hesitation.

“Have it your own way,” said Mr. Stokes, somewhat perturbed at Mr. Bell’s refusal to live up to the character he had arranged for him.

“I wish my husband spent his evenings in the same quiet way,” said Mrs. Henshaw, shaking her head.

“Don’t he?” said Mr. Stokes. “Why, he always seems quiet enough to me. Too quiet, I should say. Why, I never knew a quieter man. I chaff ‘im about it sometimes. ”

“That’s his artfulness,” said Mrs. Henshaw.

“Always in a hurry to get ‘ome,” pursued the benevolent Mr. Stokes.

“He may say so to you to get away from you,” said Mrs. Henshaw, thoughtfully. “He does say you’re hard to shake off sometimes. ”

Mr. Stokes sat stiffly upright and threw a fierce glance in the direction of Mr. Henshaw.

“Pity he didn’t tell me,” he said bitterly. “I ain’t one to force my company where it ain’t wanted. ”

“I’ve said to him sometimes,” continued Mrs. Henshaw, “’Why don’t you tell Ted Stokes plain that you don’t like his company?’ but he won’t. That ain’t his way. He’d sooner talk of you behind your back. ”

“What does he say?” inquired Mr. Stokes, coldly ignoring a frantic headshake on the part of his friend.

“Promise me you won’t tell him if I tell you,” said Mrs. Henshaw.

Mr. Stokes promised.

“I don’t know that I ought to tell you,” said Mrs. Henshaw, reluctantly, “but I get so sick and tired of him coming home and grumbling about you. ”

“Go on,” said the waiting Stokes.

Mrs. Henshaw stole a glance at him. “He says you act as if you thought yourself everybody,” she said, softly, “and your everlasting clack, clack, clack, worries him to death. ”

“Go on,” said the listener, grimly.

“And he says it’s so much trouble to get you to pay for your share of the drinks that he’d sooner pay himself and have done with it. ”

Mr. Stokes sprang from his chair and, with clenched fists, stood angrily regarding the horrified Mr. Bell. He composed himself by an effort and resumed his seat.