"It's all a mistake," said Priam impatiently. Then he had a brilliant inspiration. "As if there was only one Henry Leek in the world!" "Do you really recognize my husband?" Alice asked. "Your husband, madam!" Matthew protested, shocked. "I wouldn't say that I recognized him as he _was_," said the real Mrs. Henry Leek. "No more than he recognizes me. After thirty years!....Last time I saw him he was only twenty-two or twenty-three. But he's the same sort of man, and he has the same eyes. And look at Henry's eyes. Besides, I heard twenty-five years ago that he'd gone into service with a Mr. Priam Farll, a painter or something, him that was buried in Westminster Abbey. And everybody in Putney knows that this gentleman----" "Gentleman!" murmured Matthew, discontented. "Was valet to Mr. Priam Farll. We've heard that everywhere." "I suppose you'll not deny," said Henry the younger, "that Priam Farll wouldn't be likely to have _two_ valets named Henry Leek?" Crushed by this Socratic reasoning, Priam kept silence, nursing his knees and staring into the fire. Alice went to the sideboard where she kept her best china, and took out three extra cups and saucers. "I think we'd all better have some tea," she said tranquilly. And then she got the tea-caddy and put seven teaspoonfuls of tea into one of the tea-pots. "It's very kind of you, I'm sure," whimpered the authentic Mrs. Henry Leek. "Now, mother, don't give way!" the curates admonished her. "Don't you remember, Henry," she went on whimpering to Priam, "how you said you wouldn't be married in a church, not for anybody? And how I gave way to you, like I always did? And don't you remember how you wouldn't let poor little Johnnie be baptized? Well, I do hope your opinions have altered. Eh, but it's strange, it's strange, how two of your sons, and just them two that you'd never set eyes on until this day, should have made up their minds to go into the church! And thanks to Johnnie there, they've been able to. If I was to tell you all the struggles we've had, you wouldn't believe me. They were clerks, and they might have been clerks to this day, if it hadn't been for Johnnie. But Johnnie could always earn money. It's that engineering! And now Matthew's second curate at St. Paul's and getting fifty pounds a year, and Henry'll have a curacy next month at Bermondsey--it's been promised, and all thanks to Johnnie!" She wept. Johnnie, in the corner, who had so far done nought but knock at the door, maintained stiffly his policy of non-interference. Priam Farll, angry, resentful, and quite untouched by the recital, shrugged his shoulders. He was animated by the sole desire to fly from the widow and progeny of his late valet. But he could not fly. The Herculean John was too close to the door. So he shrugged his shoulders a second time.