acquaintanceship with her, then, after you'?I was going to say 'after you ceased to be Smith,' but not wishing to agitate him by more mention of that person than I could help, I substituted, 'after you returned to the Albany?'
''Not exactly,' he replied; 'I lost sight of her after I left Yarmouth, and I did not see her again until five days ago, when I came across her in an aerated bread shop. I had gone in to get a glass of milk and a bun, and SHE brought them to me. I recognised her in a moment.' His face lighted up with quite a human smile. 'I take tea there every afternoon now,' he added, glancing towards the clock, 'at four.'
''There's not much need to ask HER views on the subject,' I said, laughing; 'her feelings towards you were pretty evident.'
''Well, that is the curious part of it,' he replied, with a return to his former embarrassment; 'she does not seem to care for me now at all. Indeed, she positively refuses me. She says?to put it in the dear child's own racy language?that she wouldn't take me on at any price. She says it would be like marrying a clockwork figure without the key. She's more frank than complimentary, but I like that.'
''Wait a minute,' I said; 'an idea occurs to me. Does she know of your identity with Smith?'
''No,' he replied, alarmed, 'I would not have her know it for worlds. Only yesterday she told me that I reminded her of a fellow she had met at Yarmouth, and my heart was in my mouth.'
''How did she look when she told you that?' I asked.
''How did she look?' he repeated, not understanding me.
''What was her expression at that moment?' I said?'was it severe or tender?'
''Well,' he replied, 'now I come to think of it, she did seem to soften a bit just then.'
''My dear boy,' I said, 'the case is as clear as day-light. She loves Smith. No girl who admired Smith could be attracted by Smythe. As your present self you will never win her. In a few weeks' time, however, you will be Smith. Leave the matter over until then. Propose to her as Smith, and she will accept you. After marriage you can break Smythe gently to her.'
''By Jove!' he exclaimed, startled out of his customary lethargy, 'I never thought of that. The truth is, when I am in my right senses, Smith and all his affairs seem like a dream to me. Any idea connected with him would never enter my mind.'
'He rose and held out his hand. 'I am so glad I came to see you,' he said; 'your suggestion has almost reconciled me to my miserable fate. Indeed, I quite look forward to a month of Smith, now.'
''I'm so pleased,' I answered, shaking hands with him. 'Mind you come and tell me how you get on. Another man's love affairs are not usually absorbing, but there is an element of interest about yours that renders the case exceptional.'
'We parted, and I did not see him again for another month. Then, late one evening, the servant knocked at my door to say that a Mr. Smith wished to see me.
''Smith, Smith,' I repeated; 'what Smith? didn't he give you a card?'
''No, sir,' answered the girl; 'he doesn't look the sort that would have a card. He's not a gentleman, sir; but he says you'll know him.' She evidently regarded the statement as an aspersion upon myself.
'I was about to tell her to say I was out, when the recollection of Smythe's other self flashed into my mind, and I directed her to send him up.
'A minute passed, and then he entered. He was wearing a new suit of a louder pattern, if possible, than before. I think he must have designed it himself. He looked hot and greasy. He did not offer to shake hands, but sat down awkwardly on the extreme edge of a small chair, and gaped about the room as if he had never seen it before.
'He communicated his shyness to myself. I could not think what to say, and we sat for a while in painful silence.
''Well,' I said, at last, plunging head-foremost into the matter, according to the method of shy people, 'and how's 'Liza?'
''Oh, SHE'S all right,' he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on his hat.
''Have you done it?' I continued.
''Done wot?' he asked, looking up.
''Married her.'
''No,' he answered, returning to the contemplation of his hat.
''Has she refused you then?' I said.
''I ain't arst 'er,' he returned.
He seemed unwilling to explain matters of his own accord. I had to put the conversation into the form of a cross-examination.
''Why not?' I asked; 'don't you think she cares for you any longer?'
He burst into a harsh laugh. 'There ain't much fear o' that,' he said; 'it's like 'aving an Alcock's porous plaster mashed on yer, blowed if it ain't. There's no gettin' rid of 'er. I wish she'd giv' somebody else a turn. I'm fair sick of 'er.'
''But you were enthusiastic about her a month ago!' I exclaimed in astonishment.
''Smythe may 'ave been,' he said; 'there ain't no accounting for that ninny, 'is 'ead's full of starch. Anyhow, I don't take 'er on while I'm myself. I'm too jolly fly.'
''That sort o' gal's all right enough to lark with,' he continued; 'but yer don't want to marry 'em. They don't do yer no good. A man wants a wife as 'e can respect?some one as is a cut above 'imself, as will raise 'im up a peg or two?some one as 'e can look up to and worship. A man's wife orter be to 'im a gawddess?a hangel, a?'
''You appear to have met the lady,' I remarked, interrupting him.
'He blushed scarlet, and became suddenly absorbed in the pattern of the carpet. But the next moment he looked up again, and his face seemed literally transformed.
''Oh! Mr. MacShaughnassy,' he burst out, with a ring of genuine manliness in his voice, 'you don't know 'ow good, 'ow beautiful she is. I ain't fit to breathe 'er name in my thoughts. An' she's so clever. I met 'er at that Toynbee 'All. There was a party of toffs there all together. You would 'ave enjoyed it, Mr. MacShaughnassy, if you could 'ave 'eard 'er; she was makin' fun of the pictures and the people round about to 'er pa?such wit, such learnin', such 'aughtiness. I follered them out and opened the carriage door for 'er, and she just drew 'er skirt aside and looked at me as if I was the dirt in the road. I wish I was, for then perhaps one day I'd kiss 'er feet.'
'His emotion was so genuine that I did not feel inclined to laugh at him. 'Did you find out who she was?' I asked.
''Yes,' he answered; 'I 'eard the old gentleman say ''Ome' to the coachman, and I ran after the carriage all the way to 'Arley Street. Trevior's 'er name, Hedith Trevior.'
''Miss Trevior!' I cried, 'a tall, dark girl, with untidy hair and rather weak eyes?'
''Tall and dark,' he replied 'with 'air that seems tryin' to reach 'er lips to kiss 'em, and heyes, light blue, like a Cambridge necktie. A 'undred and seventy-three was the number.'
''That's right,' I said; 'my dear Smith, this is becoming complicated. You've met the lady and talked to her for half an hour?as Smythe, don't you remember?'
''No,' he said, after cogitating for a minute, 'carn't say I do; I never can remember much about Smythe. He allers seems to me like a bad dream.'
''Well, you met her,' I said; 'I'm positive. I introduced you to her myself, and she confided to me afterwards that she thought you a most charming man.'
''No?did she?' he remarked, evidently softening in his feelings towards Smythe; 'and did I like 'ER?'
''Well, to tell the truth,' I answered, 'I don't think you did. You looked intensely bored.'
''The Juggins,' I heard him mutter to himself, and then he said aloud: 'D'yer think I shall get a chance o' seein' 'er agen, when I'm?when I'm Smythe?'
''Of course,' I said, 'I'll take you round myself. By the bye,' I added, jumping up and looking on the mantelpiece, 'I've got a card for a Cinderella at their place?something to do with a birthday. Will you be Smythe on November the twentieth?'
''Ye?as,' he replied; 'oh, yas?bound to be by then.'
''Very well, then,' I said, 'I'll call round for you at the Albany, and we'll go together.'
'He rose and stood smoothing his hat with his sleeve. 'Fust time I've ever looked for'ard to bein' that hanimated corpse, Smythe,' he said slowly. 'Blowed if I don't try to 'urry it up?'pon my sivey I will.'
