“He can go,” said Mr. Evans, with an attempt at dignity; “he can go this time, and I hope that this'll be a lesson to him not to go about looking like other people. If he does, next time, p'r'aps, he won't escape so easy.” “You're quite right,” said Mr. Carter, blandly. “I'll get a new face first thing to-morrow morning. I ought to have done it before.” He crossed to the door and, nodding to the fermenting Mr. Evans, bowed to the profile of Miss Evans and walked slowly out. Envy of Mr. Simmons was mingled with amazement at his deplorable lack of taste and common sense. He would willingly have changed places with him. There was evidently a strong likeness, and—— Busy with his thoughts he came to a standstill in the centre of the footpath, and then, with a sudden air of determination, walked slowly back to the house. “Yes?” said Mr. Evans, as the door opened and the face of Mr. Carter was thrust in. “What have you come back for?” The other stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him. “I have come back,” he said, slowly—“I have come back because I feel ashamed of myself.” “Ashamed of yourself?” repeated Mr. Evans, rising and confronting him. Mr. Carter hung his head and gazed nervously in the direction of the girl. “I can't keep up this deception,” he said, in a low but distinct voice. “I am Bert Simmons. At least, that is the name I told you four years ago.” “I knew I hadn't made a mistake,” roared Mr. Evans to his son. “I knew him well enough. Shut the door, Jim. Don't let him go.” “I don't want to go,” said Mr. Carter, with a glance in the direction of Nancy. “I have come back to make amends.” “Fancy Nancy not knowing him!” said Jim, gazing at the astonished Miss Evans. “She was afraid of getting me into trouble,” said Mr. Carter, “and I just gave her a wink not to recognize me; but she knew me well enough, bless her.” “How dare you!” said the girl, starting up. “Why, I've never seen you before in my life.” “All right, Nan,” said the brazen Mr. Carter; “but it's no good keeping it up now. I've come back to act fair and square.” Miss Evans struggled for breath. “There he is, my girl,” said her father, patting her on the back. “He's not much to look at, and he treated you very shabby, but if you want him I suppose you must have him.” “Want him?” repeated the incensed Miss Evans. “Want him? I tell you it's not Bert. How dare he come here and call me Nan?” “You used not to mind it,” said Mr. Carter, plaintively. “I tell you,” said Miss Evans, turning to her father and brother, “it's not Bert. Do you think I don't know?” “Well, he ought to know who he is,” said her father, reasonably. “Of course I ought,” said Mr. Carter, smiling at her. “Besides, what reason should I have for saying I am Bert if I am not?” “That's a fair question,” said Jim, as the girl bit her lip. “Why should he?” “Ask him,” said the girl, tartly.