She was out all the afternoon, but at tea time she sat next to Mr. Carter, and joined brightly in the conversation concerning her marriage.  She addressed him as Bert, and when he furtively pressed her hand beneath the table-cloth she made no attempt to withdraw it.

“I can’t think how it was you didn’t know him at first,” said her father.  “You’re usually wide-awake enough.”

“Silly of me,” said Nancy; “but I am silly sometimes.”

Mr. Carter pressed her hand again, and gazing tenderly into her eyes received a glance in return which set him thinking.  It was too cold and calculating for real affection; in fact, after another glance, he began to doubt if it indicated affection at all.

“It’s like old times, Bert,” said Miss Evans, with an odd smile.  “Do you remember what you said that afternoon when I put the hot spoon on your neck?”

“Yes,” was the reply.

“What was it?” inquired the girl.

“I won’t repeat it,” said Mr. Carter, firmly.

He was reminded of other episodes during the meal, but, by the exercise of tact and the plea of a bad memory, did fairly well.  He felt that he had done very well indeed when, having cleared the tea-things away, Nancy came and sat beside him with her hand in his.  Her brother grunted, but Mr. Evans, in whom a vein of sentiment still lingered, watched them with much satisfaction.

Mr. Carter had got possession of both hands and was murmuring fulsome flatteries when the sound of somebody pausing at the open door caused them to be hastily withdrawn.

“Evening, Mr. Evans,” said a young man, putting his head in.  “Why, halloa!  Bert!  Well, of all the——­”

“Halloa!” said Mr. Carter, with attempted enthusiasm, as he rose from his chair.

“I thought you was lost,” said the other, stepping in and gripping his hand.  “I never thought I was going to set eyes on you again.  Well, this is a surprise.  You ain’t forgot Joe Wilson, have you?”

“Course I haven’t, Joe,” said Mr. Carter.  “I’d have known you anywhere.”

He shook hands effusively, and Mr. Wilson, after a little pretended hesitation, accepted a chair and began to talk about old times.

“I lay you ain’t forgot one thing, Bert,” he said at last.

“What’s that?” inquired the other.

“That arf-quid I lent you,” said Mr. Wilson.

Mr. Carter, after the first shock of surprise, pretended to think, Mr. Wilson supplying him with details as to time and place, which he was in no position to dispute.  He turned to Mr. Evans, who was still acting as his banker, and, after a little hesitation, requested him to pay the money.  Conversation seemed to fail somewhat after that, and Mr. Wilson, during an awkward pause, went off whistling.

“Same old Joe,” said Mr. Carter, lightly, after he had gone.  “He hasn’t altered a bit.”

Miss Evans glanced at him, but said nothing.  She was looking instead towards a gentleman of middle age who was peeping round the door indulging in a waggish game of peep-bo with the unconscious Mr. Carter.  Finding that he had at last attracted his attention, the gentleman came inside and, breathing somewhat heavily after his exertions, stood before him with outstretched hand.