Conversation flagged despite the efforts of Mrs. Henshaw to draw Mr. Bell out on the subject of Ireland. At an early stage of the catechism he lost his voice entirely, and thereafter sat silent while Mrs. Henshaw discussed the most intimate affairs of her husband’s family with Mr. Stokes. She was in the middle of an anecdote about her mother-in-law when Mr. Bell rose and, with some difficulty, intimated his desire to depart. “What, without seeing George?” said Mrs. Henshaw. “He can’t be long now, and I should like to see you together.” “P’r’aps we shall meet him,” said Mr. Stokes, who was getting rather tired of the affair. “Good night.” He led the way to the door and, followed by the eager Mr. Bell, passed out into the street. The knowledge that Mrs. Henshaw was watching him from the door kept him silent until they had turned the corner, and then, turning fiercely on Mr. Henshaw, he demanded to know what he meant by it. “I’ve done with you,” he said, waving aside the other’s denials. “I’ve got you out of this mess, and now I’ve done with you. It’s no good talking, because I don’t want to hear it.” “Good-by, then,” said Mr. Henshaw, with unexpected hauteur, as he came to a standstill. “I’ll ’ave my trousers first, though,” said Mr. Stokes, coldly, “and then you can go, and welcome.” “It’s my opinion she recognized me, and said all that just to try us,” said the other, gloomily. Mr. Stokes scorned to reply, and reaching his lodging stood by in silence while the other changed his clothes. He refused Mr. Henshaw’s hand with a gesture he had once seen on the stage, and, showing him downstairs, closed the door behind him with a bang. Left to himself, the small remnants of Mr. Henshaw’s courage disappeared. He wandered forlornly up and down the streets until past ten o’clock, and then, cold and dispirited, set off in the direction of home. At the corner of the street he pulled himself together by a great effort, and walking rapidly to his house put the key in the lock and turned it. The door was fast and the lights were out. He knocked, at first lightly, but gradually increasing in loudness. At the fourth knock a light appeared in the room above, the window was raised, and Mrs. Henshaw leaned out “_Mr. Bell!_” she said, in tones of severe surprise. “_Bell?_” said her husband, in a more surprised voice still. “It’s me, Polly.” “Go away at once, sir!” said Mrs. Henshaw, indignantly. “How dare you call me by my Christian name? I’m surprised at you!” “It’s me, I tell you—George!” said her husband, desperately. “What do you mean by calling me Bell?” [Illustration: “He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at the window.”] “If you’re Mr. Bell, as I suppose, you know well enough,” said Mrs. Henshaw, leaning out and regarding him fixedly; “and if you’re George you don’t.” “I’m George,” said Mr. Henshaw, hastily.