“It has been just as bad to me, sir. We were to have been with our family this Christmas Eve. There were particular reasons,--most particular. We were only hindered from going by hearing of your condition.” “Why did she come into my room at all? I can’t understand that. A lady always knows her own room at an hotel.” “353--that’s yours; 333--that’s ours. Don’t you see how easy it was? She had lost her way, and she was a little afraid lest the thing should fall down.” “I wish it had, with all my heart.” “That’s how it was. Now I’m sure, Mr. Jones, you’ll take a lady’s apology. It was a most unfortunate mistake,--most unfortunate; but what more can be said?” Mr. Jones gave himself up to reflection for a few moments before he replied to this. He supposed that he was bound to believe the story as far as it went. At any rate, he did not know how he could say that he did not believe it. It seemed to him to be almost incredible,--especially incredible in regard to that personal mistake, for, except that they both had long beards and brown beards, Mr. Jones thought that there was no point of resemblance between himself and Mr. Brown. But still, even that, he felt, must be accepted. But then why had he been left, deserted, to undergo all those torments? “She found out her mistake at last, I suppose?” “Oh, yes.” “Why didn’t she wake a fellow and take it off again?” “Ah!” “She can’t have cared very much for a man’s comfort when she went away and left him like that.” “Ah! there was the difficulty, Mr. Jones.” “Difficulty! Who was it that had done it? To come to me, in my bedroom, in the middle of the night, and put that thing on me, and then leave it there and say nothing about it! It seems to me deuced like a practical joke.” “No, Mr. Jones!” “That’s the way I look at it,” said Mr. Jones, plucking up his courage. “There isn’t a woman in all England, or in all France, less likely to do such a thing than my wife. She’s as steady as a rock, Mr. Jones, and would no more go into another gentleman’s bedroom in joke than---- Oh dear no! You’re going to be a married man yourself.” “Unless all this makes a difference,” said Mr. Jones, almost in tears. “I had sworn that I would be with her this Christmas Eve.” “Oh, Mr. Jones, I cannot believe that will interfere with your happiness. How could you think that your wife, as is to be, would do such a thing as that in joke?” “She wouldn’t do it at all;--joke or anyway.” “How can you tell what accident might happen to anyone?”