The couple had accompanied their stare with eager whisperings. Then, as if on some hasty decision, they pushed back their chairs and got up. Taking a few steps they separated, approaching Smith on right and left. One, therefore, stood between him and Annesley as if to prevent an exchange of words or glances. There was something Eastern and oddly alien about them in spite of their conventional clothes. "Mr. Michael Varcoe!" said the bigger and older, he who stood on the left of Smith. The other kept in the background, not to crowd with conspicuous rudeness between Annesley and her host. The man who spoke had a thick voice and a curious accent which the girl, with her small experience, was unable to place. "No," answered "Smith," in a puzzled tone. "You mistake me for someone else." "I think not," insisted the bearded man, in a hostile drawl. "I _think_ not!" "I'm _sure_ not," echoed the other. "You are Michael Varcoe. There's no getting away from that." The emphasis seemed to add, "And no getting away from _us_." Excitement stirred Annesley to courage. "Why, how horrid!" she exclaimed, bending past the human obstacle; "people taking you for some _foreigner_! I'm sure you can't be like a man with such a name as--Michael Varcoe! Tell them who we are." "My name is Nelson Smith," said her official husband. "My wife is not----" "Your wife!" repeated the man standing opposite Annesley. He stared with insolent incredulity. "'Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Smith.' A good name to take." "It happens to have been given me." Slight sharpness broke the tolerance of Smith's tone. "I don't believe you!" exclaimed the other. Smith's black brows drew together. "It doesn't matter whether you believe or not," he said. "What does matter is that you should annoy us. I tell you I'm not Michael Varcoe, and never heard the name. If you're not satisfied, and if you don't go back to your dinner and let us finish ours in peace, I'll appeal to the management." "Well!" grumbled the taller of the pair. "If you're not the man I want, you're his image--minus moustache and beard. You _must_ be Varcoe!" "Of course he's Varcoe," insisted the other. "Of course he's not!" said Annesley, with just the right amount of irritation. "Our name is Smith. Nelson, do tell this--person to ask the head-waiter who engaged the table, and not stay here making a fuss." "Anybody can engage a table in the name of Smith!" sneered the first speaker. "That is nothing. We go by something more convincing than a name. There are countries where men have been arrested on less resemblance--or put out of the way." "Oh, Nelson, he's frightening me," faltered Annesley. "He must have lost his senses." "You think that, do you?" The fierce eyes fixed her with a stare. "You tell me--_you_, madame, that you are this man's wife?" "I do tell you so," the girl replied, firmly, "though I don't see that it's your affair! Now go away."