"Don't be an ass, Stumpy," said he, using a familiar name no fact in real life warranted. "It's not that sort of thing, thank God! No--I'll tell you what it is, only you mustn't on any account mention it." "All right, Crocky! I never mention things. Honest Injun! Go ahead easy." Mr. Hughes was greatly relieved that his surmise had been wrong. Good job for Mr. Aiken, as also for his wife! Mr. Hughes desired his congratulations to this lady, but withdrew them on second thoughts. Because, you see, her escape from the anxieties of maternity was entirely constructive. Mr. Hughes felt that he had put his foot in it, and that his wisest course would be to take it out. He did so. But Mr. Aiken had something to say about his wife, and made it a corollary to her disappearance from the conversation. "She's bolted!" said he lugubriously. "Went away Thursday, and wrote to say she wasn't coming back, Friday. It's a fact." Mr. Hughes put back his foot in it. "Who's she bolted with? Who's the feller?" Mr. Aiken flushed up quite red, like any turkey-cock. "Damn it, Stump!" said he, "you really ought to take care what you're saying. I should like to see any fellow presume to run away with Euphemia. Draw it mild!" He became calmer, and it is to be hoped was ashamed of his irritability. But really it was Mr. Hughes's fault--talking just like as if it was in a novel, and Euphemia a character. "I beg your pardon," said that offender humbly. "It was the way you put it. Besides, they are generally supposed to." Mr. Aiken responded, correctively and loftily: "Yes, my dear fellow, on the stage and in novels." He added, with something of insular pride, "Chiefly French and American." "What's her little game, then?" asked Mr. Hughes. "If it's not some other beggar, _what_ is it she's run away with?" "She has not run away with anybody," said Mr. Aiken with dignity. "Nor anything. Perhaps I should explain myself better by saying that she has refused to return from her Aunt's." "Any reason?" said Mr. Hughes, who wanted to get back to his Idea. "I'm sorry to say it was my fault, Stumpy," came very penitently from the catechumen. Interest was roused. "I say, young man," said Mr. Hughes, with a tendency of one eye to close, "what have you been at?" "Absolutely nothing whatever!" "Yes, of course! But along of who? Who's the young woman you _haven't_ been making love to? Tell up and have done with it." "You are under a complete misconception, Stump. Really _nobody_!" Mr. Hughes thought a moment, as though he were at work on a conundrum. Then he pointed suddenly. "Fanny Smith!" said he convictingly. Mr. Aiken quite lost his temper, and got demonstrative. "Fanny Smith--Fanny grandmother!" he exclaimed meaninglessly! "How can you talk such infernal rot, Stumpy. Do be reasonable!" "Then it was _somebody_," said his tormentor, and Mr. Aiken felt very awkward and humiliated.