"I say," protested my visitor, "you really needn’t look so worried. It’s all right, really. This is my room, you know; theoretically, you know. Only I always sleep in the bathroom (we’ve got a bath-room, you know, and there’s a lid to it, and I sleep on that), and I always sleep there because it’s a long way from Fatty, and I can’t hear him raving when the night-bell rings. And Fatty——" "Pardon me," I cried, "but who is Fatty?" The lady looked at me a little blankly. "Who is Fatty?" she repeated, but then broke off, a light as of understanding in her eye. "I was forgetting," she said. "Of course, you wouldn’t know. Well, it is like this, you see. This house belongs to a man called Brink, who is a doctor and——" "I know all that," I assured her. "Oh, you do know all about it, then," quoth she; "I wasn’t sure, you know. Most of the strange people that I find in my bedroom if I happen to look in for anything don’t know anything at all about us. Fatty finds them—gathers them up, you know—and brings them home and feeds them and converts them to Socialism and puts them to bed, and when they wake up in the morning they have to have it all explained to them. Fatty is Dr. Brink, you know. One always calls him Fatty, because his proper names are Theobald Henry de la Rue, and you simply haven’t time in the mumps season. You’re a reformer, I suppose? What do you reform?" "Reform!" I cried, "what do _I_ reform? Why, I don’t reform at all. I’ve never reformed a blue-bottle." "But surely you’re against something or other. You _must_ be against something!" "Oh, well," I answered, "if it comes to that, I—I——" "Just so," assented the lady. "Don’t go into particulars. They _all_ particularise. I could stand much from you—more than usual, I mean—because you are clean-shaven, and that is such a change from most of the other powerful thinkers whom one finds here in the morning. They are staunch, you know, and sound on the Education Question and all that sort of thing, and they are a useful hobby for Fatty to take up; but they’re rather old and solemn, as a rule, you know. And they _do_ go into details! Now _you_ seem rather jolly; and when you’ve got up and we’ve been properly introduced and I’ve boiled your egg, I’ll show you my white rats. Do you like white rats?" "I adore them," said your servant. "Good. And, I say, I hope you won’t mind, but you’ll have to toilet yourself in the kitchen sink. Our ’char’s’ such a rotter, you know, and I see she hasn’t filled your jug—she never does—and she doesn’t come till ten, and I’ve got to finish dressing, and Fatty’s out on a call, and there’s all the breakfast to get; and when you’ve done your toilet _do_ you mind just putting a match to the gas stove and sticking a kettle on? Thanks awfully." ... My fair guest flung herself upon the door. All of her, save a corner of the stripy petticoat, had disappeared, when I put in _the_ important question. "I say," I cried, "who _are_ you?"