Taking out a red silk handkerchief, the corner of which had been protruding from the outside pocket of his overcoat, he held it out to me. I was reluctant to take it. One is reluctant to accept the loan of a silk handkerchief from a perfect stranger, more especially, perhaps, from the sort of stranger he appeared to be. But what was I to do? I was in want of a handkerchief. My own was worse than useless. It was reeking wet. Great gouts of blood were commencing to drop from it. My cheek was bleeding as profusely as ever. I was beginning to wonder if a blood-vessel had been severed. One cannot buy handkerchiefs on a Sunday night. I should have to borrow from some one. So I borrowed from him. Unwillingly enough, I admit. As I applied his handkerchief to my cheek, turning, I threw my own through the open window at my side. He rushed forward, as if to stay my arm. He was too late. The handkerchief had gone. "Good God!" he exclaimed, "what have you done?" He seemed unnecessarily excited, considering that, in any case, the handkerchief was mine. "I've thrown it away. You don't suppose that, in that condition, I could carry it home." He looked at me with his eager eyes. "Was your name upon it?" "I believe so; why?" Leaning over, he laid his hand upon my shoulder. He spoke in a tone of voice which, in spite of myself, sent a thrill all over me. "Man, supposing they find it? It may be a question of life or death. Let's get out of this--come!" It was time that we left the carriage. I had noticed a porter staring in, as if wondering why we remained its occupants. But that was no reason why the stranger, thrusting his arm through mine, should have almost dragged me out on to the platform. As he continued to cling to me when we were on the platform, I remonstrated--"Be so good as to release my arm." Paying no attention to my request, he made as if to hurry me on. "Come to a little place I know near here. I am a bit of a doctor. I'll soon make that cut of yours all right." I did not budge. I repeated my request-- "Be so good as to release my arm. I am obliged to you for your suggestion. I, however, prefer to go straight home." "Quite right; there is no place like home. Let's go and find a cab." Not at all nonplussed, he again made as if to hasten on. I still declined to budge. "Thank you. I can perform that office for myself. If you will give me your address, I will forward you your handkerchief. Or, if you prefer it, I will deposit with you its value." "Sir, I am a gentleman." He drew himself up with an assumption of dignity which was so overdone as to be ludicrous. The two last words he repeated--"A gentleman!" "I do not doubt it. It is I who may not be a gentleman." "I, sir, can tell a gentleman when I see one." He laid a stress upon the personal pronoun, as if he wished me to infer that such clearness of vision might be a personal peculiarity. "I will give you my address in the cab."