No one can say that we did not weigh the merits of the various baths carefully. We passed from one to another, asking questions, receiving information, examining, criticizing, discussing for over an hour. Four times, to our great joy, the excellent partner actually climbed into a bath, the more satisfactorily to emphasize its advantages. As he sat there, faithfully reproducing the various movements of the arms, universally, I suppose, employed in the process of ablution, the living picture which he presented, put an obviously severe strain upon the gravity of my companion. And when, in response to a daringly ingenuous thirst for intelligence on my part, he proceeded to demonstrate the comparative ease with which a left-handed bather, suffering from sciatica, could manipulate the taps from the wrong end of the bath, the girl hurriedly sought the shelter of a convenient pillar to hide her open merriment. We had a great time. Finally, we each gave an order for a 'Pompadour, which seemed, on the whole, to merit the palm. It was certainly the last word in the bath line. While she was giving her name and the address of the home, which her new bath was to adorn, I strolled a little apart, thinking. When she had finished, the partner turned to me. "I think I have the address, sir. The same as before?" "That's right," said I. "I'm going down there on Tuesday. Could you send a man down that day to see the room and take the measurements? I'd like to be there myself." "Certainly, sir. "Very well. He'd better come by the nine-thirty, which'll get him down in two hours. I'll send to meet him. I'm going down by car myself." "Thank you, sir." He turned to the girl inquiringly. "Perhaps Tuesday would suit you, too, madam? I don't think you mentioned any particular day, and as it's the same station for both houses, madam--" He broke off. She and I were staring at one another. Then: "How awfully strange," we said in unison. The partner being there, there was no more to be said. "Tuesday will do very well," she said, turning to him. Together he conducted us to the street. Then, might he send for a taxi? There was a rank... The idea of sending for two taxis never seemed to enter his head. A good fellow, that partner. But, no thank you, my lady would walk. Would pick up a cab presently. "May I have the pleasure of seeing you to a taxi?" said I, naturally enough. "Thank you very much." We bade the partner good-bye and turned in the direction of Westminster. "You're sure it's not taking you out of your way?" said my companion with an innocent look. "Out of my way," said I. "D'you think I live at Tooting?" She broke into a little laugh. I went on: "And if I did. If I lived at Hither Green and was just going to miss the last tram, don't you think I'd er--miss it?" "You're very kind," she said quietly.