He sprang up the stairs, which led from a corner of the room, and the next moment the voice of a young lady, laboring under intense excitement, fell on the ears of Mr. Carter. With a fine attempt at unconcern he rose and inspected an aged engraving of “The Sailor's Return.” “She'll be down in a minute,” said Jim, returning. “P'r'aps it's as well that I didn't set about him, after all,” said his father. “If I had done what I should like to do, his own mother wouldn't have known him.” Mr. Carter sniffed defiantly and, with a bored air, resumed his seat. Ten minutes passed—fifteen; at the end of half an hour the elder man's impatience found vent in a tirade against the entire sex. “She's dressing up; that's what it is,” explained Jim. “For him!” A door opened above and a step sounded on the stairs. Mr. Carter looked up uneasily, and, after the first sensation of astonishment had passed, wondered vaguely what his double had run away for. The girl, her lips parted and her eyes bright, came swiftly down into the room. “Where is he?” she said, quickly. “Eh?” said her father, in surprise. “Why, there! Can't you see?” The light died out of the girl's face and she looked round in dismay. The watchful Mr. Carter thought that he also detected in her glance a spice of that temper which had made her relatives so objectionable. “That!” she said, loudly. “That! That's not my Bert!” “That's what I told 'em,” said Mr. Carter, deferentially, “over and over again.” “What!” said her father, loudly. “Look again.” “If I looked all night it wouldn't make any difference,” said the disappointed Miss Evans. “The idea of making such a mistake!” “We're all liable to mistakes,” said Mr. Carter, magnanimously, “even the best of us.” “You take a good look at him,” urged her brother, “and don't forget that it's four years since you saw him. Isn't that Bert's nose?” “No,” said the girl, glancing at the feature in question, “not a bit like it. Bert had a beautiful nose.” “Look at his eyes,” said Jim. Miss Evans looked, and meeting Mr. Carter's steady gaze tossed her head scornfully and endeavored to stare him down. Realizing too late the magnitude of the task, but unwilling to accept defeat, she stood confronting him with indignant eyes. “Well?” said Mr. Evans, misunderstanding. “Not a bit like,” said his daughter, turning thankfully. “And if you don't like Bert, you needn't insult him.” She sat down with her back towards Mr. Carter and looked out at the window. “Well, I could ha' sworn it was Bert Simmons,” said the discomfited Mr. Evans. “Me, too,” said his son. “I'd ha' sworn to him anywhere. It's the most extraordinary likeness I've ever seen.” He caught his father's eye, and with a jerk of his thumb telegraphed for instructions as to the disposal of Mr. Carter.