‘What-ho,’ put in Elizabeth.

’Now let me show you the mistake under which you are labouring.  It is true my name is William, but William is a common name.  I have remarked, indeed, that the world is pretty full of Williams.  Miss Warrington was in no way referring to me.’

‘I don’t think,’ commented Elizabeth.

‘Evidently you don’t,’ I said severely, ’or you would not make such absurd statements.’

‘I ain’t done yet,’ went on this diabolical creature.  ’You say it wasn’t meant fer you?  Listen.  When Miss Marryun goes on wringin’ ’er ‘ands an’ sobbin’, “I love my Willyum,” missus ses, “But ’ow can you love such a big ugly brute of a man wot’s allus throwin’ ’is tobacco ash about the place, and scrapin’ the fendy with ’is feet and never wears a fancy westcoat even at evernin’ parties.  ’Ow can you love him?” she arsks.

’"I don’t know myself,” ses Miss Marryun, “but there it is.  I’d rather die than live without my Willyum."’

‘Silence,’ I burst out fiercely, ’do you think I don’t know that all this is pure invention on your part—­for what reason I, as yet, cannot tell.  How dare you concoct such tales?’

’Wait till I’ve finished, please, sir.  The missus, she ses, “But Marryun, my pore dear, it’s no use lovin’ ’im.  ’E ses to me ’is very self the other day, ’e ses, ’Sooner than get married I’d go and dwell in the wilderness, I’d go to Tibbet, be an ’ermit in a cave, give up baccy, and give away every farthin’ I ‘ad in the world.’"’

A feeling of acute horror swept over me.  With a crash my favourite pipe fell from my nerveless fingers and was smashed to atoms on the fender.  There was truth in the girl’s fantastic story after all.  I recalled using such expressions as those when, a little time before, I was discussing conjugal difficulties in a talk with Mrs. Warrington.  Obviously the girl could not have made the thing up.  I passed my hand wildly across my brow.  ’But what have I done that she should fall in love with me?  What is there about me to attract any woman?’

‘Nothink, as I can see,’ she retorted, ’but with a woman’s heart there’s no knowin’ an’ there’s no tellin’.  P’raps you’ve managed to throw dust in her eyes.’

’I have thrown nothing—­I mean, Miss Warrington and I are only slightly acquainted with each other.  I have, indeed, barely noticed her.  And now you tell me this horrible thing.’

She bridled.  ’Wot’s ’orrible about it?  You ought to be glad.  Most men would be proud to marry a young lady ’oo’s got such a light ’and for pastry, and can mend up an old pair o’ pants to make ’em look like new.  She’s just the sort of wife——­’

[Illustration:  ’Wot’s ‘orrible about it?’]

‘"Wife,"’ I interrupted, ’"marry”?  What do you mean by those words, girl?  Do you think for one instant if all the females in Christendom were to fall in love with me I would marry any one of them!  No, a thousand times, no.  I repeat I will never, never marry.’