“In Hung Hang Ho,” replied Mr Bunker. His visitor looked puzzled, but he continued boldly, “My experiences were somewhat unpleasant. I became engaged to a mandarin’s daughter—a charming girl. I was suspected, however, of abetting an illicit traffic in Chinese lanterns. My companions were manicured alive, and I only made my escape in a pagoda, or a junk—I was in too much of a hurry to notice which—at the imminent peril of my life. Don’t go to China, Mr Duggs.” Mr Duggs rose. “Young man,” he said, sternly, “put away that fatal bottle. I can only suppose that it is under the influence of drink that you have ventured to tell me such an irreverent and impossible story.” “Sir,” began Mr Bunker, warmly,—for he thought that an outburst of indignation would probably be the safest way of concluding the interview,—when he stopped abruptly and listened. All the time his ears had been alive to anything going on outside, and now he heard a cab rattle up and stop close by. It might be at Dr Twiddel’s, he thought, and, turning from his visitor, he sprang to the window. Remarking distantly, “I hear a cab; it is possibly a friend I am expecting,” Mr Duggs stepped to the other window. It was only, however, a hansom at the door of the next house, out of which a very golden-haired young lady was stepping. “Aha,” said Mr Bunker, quite forgetting the indignant _rôle_ he had begun to play; “rather nice! Is this your friend, Mr Duggs?” Mr Duggs gave him one look of his dull eyes, and walked straight for the door. As he went out he merely remarked, “Our acquaintance has been brief, Mr Butler, but it has been quite sufficient.” “Quite,” thought Mr Bunker. CHAPTER III. That was Mr Bunker’s first and last meeting with the Rev. John Duggs, and he took no small credit to himself for having so effectually incensed his neighbour, without, at the same time, bringing suspicion on anything more pertinent than his sobriety. And yet sometimes in the course of the next three days he would have been thankful to see him again, if only to have another passage-of-arms. The time passed most wearily; the consulting-room blinds were never raised; no cabs stopped before the doctor’s door; nobody except the little servant ever moved about the house. He could think of no plan better than waiting; and so he waited, showing himself seldom in the streets, and even sitting behind the curtain while he watched at the window. After writing at some length to the Baron he had no further correspondence that he could distract himself with; he was even forced once or twice to dip into the theological works. Mrs Gabbon had evidently “’eard sommat” from Mr Duggs, and treated him to little of her society. The boredom became so excessive that he decided he must make a move soon, however rash it was.