“It's like old times, Bert,” said Miss Evans, with an odd smile. “Do you remember what you said that afternoon when I put the hot spoon on your neck?” “Yes,” was the reply. “What was it?” inquired the girl. “I won't repeat it,” said Mr. Carter, firmly. He was reminded of other episodes during the meal, but, by the exercise of tact and the plea of a bad memory, did fairly well. He felt that he had done very well indeed when, having cleared the tea-things away, Nancy came and sat beside him with her hand in his. Her brother grunted, but Mr. Evans, in whom a vein of sentiment still lingered, watched them with much satisfaction. Mr. Carter had got possession of both hands and was murmuring fulsome flatteries when the sound of somebody pausing at the open door caused them to be hastily withdrawn. “Evening, Mr. Evans,” said a young man, putting his head in. “Why, halloa! Bert! Well, of all the——” “Halloa!” said Mr. Carter, with attempted enthusiasm, as he rose from his chair. “I thought you was lost,” said the other, stepping in and gripping his hand. “I never thought I was going to set eyes on you again. Well, this is a surprise. You ain't forgot Joe Wilson, have you?” “Course I haven't, Joe,” said Mr. Carter. “I'd have known you anywhere.” He shook hands effusively, and Mr. Wilson, after a little pretended hesitation, accepted a chair and began to talk about old times. “I lay you ain't forgot one thing, Bert,” he said at last. “What's that?” inquired the other. “That arf-quid I lent you,” said Mr. Wilson. Mr. Carter, after the first shock of surprise, pretended to think, Mr. Wilson supplying him with details as to time and place, which he was in no position to dispute. He turned to Mr. Evans, who was still acting as his banker, and, after a little hesitation, requested him to pay the money. Conversation seemed to fail somewhat after that, and Mr. Wilson, during an awkward pause, went off whistling. “Same old Joe,” said Mr. Carter, lightly, after he had gone. “He hasn't altered a bit.” Miss Evans glanced at him, but said nothing. She was looking instead towards a gentleman of middle age who was peeping round the door indulging in a waggish game of peep-bo with the unconscious Mr. Carter. Finding that he had at last attracted his attention, the gentleman came inside and, breathing somewhat heavily after his exertions, stood before him with outstretched hand. 'A Gentleman of Middle Age Was Peeping Round the Door.' “How goes it?” said Mr. Carter, forcing a smile and shaking hands. “He's grown better-looking than ever,” said the gentleman, subsiding into a chair. “So have you,” said Mr. Carter. “I should hardly have known you.” “Well, I' m glad to see you again,” said the other in a more subdued fashion. “We're all glad to see you back, and I 'ope that when the wedding cake is sent out there'll be a bit for old Ben Prout.” “You'll be the first, Ben,” said Mr. Carter, quickly.