"'Very well, then,' I said, 'I'll call round for you at the Albany, and we'll go together.' "He rose and stood smoothing his hat with his sleeve. 'Fust time I've ever looked for'ard to bein' that hanimated corpse, Smythe,' he said slowly. 'Blowed if I don't try to 'urry it up--'pon my sivey I will.' "'He'll be no good to you till the twentieth,' I reminded him. 'And,' I added, as I stood up to ring the bell, 'you're sure it's a genuine case this time. You won't be going back to 'Liza?' "'Oh, don't talk 'bout 'Liza in the same breath with Hedith,' he replied, 'it sounds like sacrilege.' "He stood hesitating with the handle of the door in his hand. At last, opening it and looking very hard at his hat, he said, 'I'm goin' to 'Arley Street now. I walk up and down outside the 'ouse every evening, and sometimes, when there ain't no one lookin', I get a chance to kiss the doorstep.' "He disappeared, and I returned to my chair. "On November twentieth, I called for him according to promise. I found him on the point of starting for the club: he had forgotten all about our appointment. I reminded him of it, and he with difficulty recalled it, and consented, without any enthusiasm, to accompany me. By a few artful hints to her mother (including a casual mention of his income), I manoeuvred matters so that he had Edith almost entirely to himself for the whole evening. I was proud of what I had done, and as we were walking home together I waited to receive his gratitude. "As it seemed slow in coming, I hinted my expectations. "'Well,' I said, 'I think I managed that very cleverly for you.' "'Managed what very cleverly?' said he. "'Why, getting you and Miss Trevior left together for such a long time in the conservatory,' I answered, somewhat hurt; '_I_ fixed that for you.' "'Oh, it was _you_, was it,' he replied; 'I've been cursing Providence.' "I stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, and faced him. 'Don't you love her?' I said. "'Love her!' he repeated, in the utmost astonishment; 'what on earth is there in her to love? She's nothing but a bad translation of a modern French comedy, with the interest omitted.' "This 'tired' me--to use an Americanism. 'You came to me a month ago,' I said, 'raving over her, and talking about being the dirt under her feet and kissing her doorstep.' "He turned very red. 'I wish, my dear Mac,' he said, 'you would pay me the compliment of not mistaking me for that detestable little cad with whom I have the misfortune to be connected. You would greatly oblige me if next time he attempts to inflict upon you his vulgar drivel you would kindly kick him downstairs.' "'No doubt,' he added, with a sneer, as we walked on, 'Miss Trevior would be his ideal. She is exactly the type of woman, I should say, to charm that type of man. For myself, I do not appreciate the artistic and literary female.'