"Well, didn't they ever tell you at Cambridge that you were the image of A. E. Barrett?" I tried to think. They had told me lots of things at Cambridge, but I couldn't remember any talk about A. E. Barrett. "I should have thought every one would have noticed it," he said. I had something graceful for him this time all right. "Probably," I said, "those who were unfortunate enough to know me had not the honour of knowing A. E. Barrett." "But everybody knew A. E. Barrett. _You've_ heard of him, of course?" The dreadful moment had arrived. I knew it would. "Of course," I said. "A charming fellow." "Very brainy," I agreed. "Well, just ask any of your artist friends if they don't notice the likeness. The nose, the eyes, the expression--wonderful! But I must be going. Perhaps I shall see you here again some day. Good afternoon"; and he raised his hat and left me. You can understand that I was considerably disturbed. First, why had I never heard of A. E. Barrett? Secondly, what sort of looking fellow was he? Thirdly, with all this talk about A. E. Barrett, however many sandwiches had I eaten? The last question seemed the most impossible to answer, so I said "eight," to be on the safe side, and went back to work. In the evening I called upon Peter. My acquaintance of the afternoon had assumed too readily that I should allow myself to be on friendly terms with artists; but Peter's wife illustrates books, and they both talk in a disparaging way of our greatest Academicians. "Who," I began at once, as I shook hands, "did I remind you of as I came in at the door?" Peter was silent. Mrs. Peter, feeling that some answer was called for, said, "The cat." "No, no. Now I'll come in again." I went out and returned dramatically. "Now then, tell me frankly, doesn't that remind you of A. E. Barrett entering his studio?" "Who is A. E. Barrett?" I was amazed at their ignorance. "He's the well-known artist. _Surely_ you've heard of him?" "I seem to know the name," lied Peter. "What did he paint?" "'Sunrise on the Alps,' 'A Corner of the West,' 'The Long Day Wanes'--_I_ don't know. Something. The usual thing." "And are you supposed to be like him?" "I am. Particularly when eating sandwiches." "Is it worth while getting you some, in order to observe the likeness?" asked Mrs. Peter. "If you've never seen A. E. Barrett I fear you'd miss the likeness, even in the most favourable circumstances. Anyhow, you must have heard of him--dear old A. E.!" They were utterly ignorant of him, so I sat down and told them what I knew; which, put shortly, was that he was a very remarkable-looking fellow. . . . . .