“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?’