"'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.'
"'He'll be no good to you till the twentieth,' I reminded him. 'And,' I added, as I stood up to ring the bell, 'you're sure it's a genuine case this time. You won't be going back to 'Liza?'
"'Oh, don't talk 'bout 'Liza in the same breath with Hedith,' he replied, 'it sounds like sacrilege.'
"He stood hesitating with the handle of the door in his hand. At last, opening it and looking very hard at his hat, he said, 'I'm goin' to 'Arley Street now. I walk up and down outside the 'ouse every evening, and sometimes, when there ain't no one lookin', I get a chance to kiss the doorstep.'
"He disappeared, and I returned to my chair.
"On November twentieth, I called for him according to promise. I found him on the point of starting for the club: he had forgotten all about our appointment. I reminded him of it, and he with difficulty recalled it, and consented, without any enthusiasm, to accompany me. By a few artful hints to her mother (including a casual mention of his income), I manoeuvred matters so that he had Edith almost entirely to himself for the whole evening. I was proud of what I had done, and as we were walking home together I waited to receive his gratitude.
"As it seemed slow in coming, I hinted my expectations.
"'Well,' I said, 'I think I managed that very cleverly for you.'
"'Managed what very cleverly?' said he.
"'Why, getting you and Miss Trevior left together for such a long time in the conservatory,' I answered, somewhat hurt; 'I fixed that for you.'
"'Oh, it was YOU, was it,' he replied; 'I've been cursing Providence.'
"I stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, and faced him. 'Don't you love her?' I said.
"'Love her!' he repeated, in the utmost astonishment; 'what on earth is there in her to love? She's nothing but a bad translation of a modern French comedy, with the interest omitted.'
"This 'tired' me―to use an Americanism. 'You came to me a month ago,' I said, 'raving over her, and talking about being the dirt under her feet and kissing her doorstep.'
"He turned very red. 'I wish, my dear Mac,' he said, 'you would pay me the compliment of not mistaking me for that detestable little cad with whom I have the misfortune to be connected. You would greatly oblige me if next time he attempts to inflict upon you his vulgar drivel you would kindly kick him downstairs.'
"'No doubt,' he added, with a sneer, as we walked on, 'Miss Trevior would be his ideal. She is exactly the type of woman, I should say, to charm that type of man. For myself, I do not appreciate the artistic and literary female.'
"'Besides,' he continued, in a deeper tone, 'you know my feelings. I shall never care for any other woman but Elizabeth.'
"'And she?' I said
"'She,' he sighed, 'is breaking her heart for Smith.'
"'Why don't you tell her you are Smith?' I asked.
"'I cannot,' he replied, 'not even to win her. Besides, she would not believe me.'
"We said good-night at the corner of Bond Street, and I did not see him again till one afternoon late in the following March, when I ran against him in Ludgate Circus. He was wearing his transition blue suit and bowler hat. I went up to him and took his arm.
"'Which are you?' I said.
"'Neither, for the moment,' he replied, 'thank God. Half an hour ago I was Smythe, half an hour hence I shall be Smith. For the present half-hour I am a man.'