“He’s quite curious to see George,” said Mr. Stokes. “In fact, he was going back to Ireland tonight if it ’adn’t been for that. He’s waiting till to-morrow just to see George.” Mr. Bell, in a voice huskier than ever, said that he had altered his mind again. [Illustration: “‘George!’ she exclaimed, sharply.”] “Nonsense!” said Mr. Stokes, sternly. “Besides, George would like to see you. I s’pose he won’t be long?” he added, turning to Mrs. Henshaw, who was regarding Mr. Bell much as a hungry cat regards a plump sparrow. “I don’t suppose so,” she said, slowly. “I dare say if we wait a little while—” began Mr. Stokes, ignoring a frantic glance from Mr. Henshaw. “Come in,” said Mrs. Henshaw, suddenly. Mr. Stokes entered and, finding that his friend hung back, went out again and half led, half pushed him indoors. Mr. Bell’s shyness he attributed to his having lived so long in Ireland. “He is quite the ladies’ man, though,” he said, artfully, as they followed their hostess into the front room. “You should ha’ seen ’im the other night on the ’bus. We had a couple o’ lady friends o’ mine with us, and even the conductor was surprised at his goings on.” Mr. Bell, by no means easy as to the results of the experiment, scowled at him despairingly. “Carrying on, was he?” said Mrs. Henshaw, regarding the culprit steadily. “Carrying on like one o’clock,” said the imaginative Mr. Stokes. “Called one of ’em his little wife, and asked her where ’er wedding-ring was.” “I didn’t,” said Mr. Bell, in a suffocating voice. “I didn’t.” “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Mr. Stokes, virtuously. “Only, as I said to you at the time, ‘Alfred,’ I says, ‘it’s all right for you as a single man, but you might be the twin-brother of a pal o’ mine—George Henshaw by name—and if some people was to see you they might think it was ’im.’ Didn’t I say that?” “You did,” said Mr. Bell, helplessly. “And he wouldn’t believe me,” said Mr. Stokes, turning to Mrs. Henshaw. “That’s why I brought him round to see George.” “I should like to see the two of ’em together myself,” said Mrs. Henshaw, quietly. “I should have taken him for my husband anywhere.” “You wouldn’t if you’d seen ’im last night,” said Mr. Stokes, shaking his head and smiling. “Carrying on again, was he?” inquired Mrs. Henshaw, quickly. “No!” said Mr. Bell, in a stentorian whisper. His glance was so fierce that Mr. Stokes almost quailed. “I won’t tell tales out of school,” he said, nodding. “Not if I ask you to?” said Mrs. Henshaw, with a winning smile. “Ask ’im,” said Mr. Stokes. “Last night,” said the whisperer, hastily, “I went for a quiet walk round Victoria Park all by myself. Then I met Mr. Stokes, and we had one half-pint together at a public-house. That’s all.” Mrs. Henshaw looked at Mr. Stokes. Mr. Stokes winked at her. “It’s as true as my name is—Alfred Bell,” said that gentleman, with slight but natural hesitation.