t view of your--ah--opinions.
Where did your work lie?"

"China," replied Mr Bunker, thinking it best to keep as far abroad as
possible.

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr Duggs. "This is really extremely fortunate. I am at
present, Mr Butler, studying the religions and customs of China at the
British Museum, with a view to going out there myself very shortly. I
already feel I know almost as much about that most interesting country as
if I had lived there. I should like to talk with you at some length on the
subject."

Mr Bunker saw that it was time to put an end to this conversation, at
whatever minor risk of perturbing his visitor. He had been a little
alarmed, too, by noticing that Mr Duggs' dull eye had wandered frequently
to his theological library, which with his usual foresight he had strewn
conspicuously on the table, and that any expression it had was rather of
suspicious curiosity than gratification.

"I should like to hear some of your experiences," Mr Duggs continued. "In
what province did you work?"

"In Hung Hang Ho," replied Mr Bunker. His visitor looked puzzled, but he
continued boldly, "My experiences were somewhat unpleasant. I became
engaged to a mandarin's daughter--a charming girl. I was suspected,
however, of abetting an illicit traffic in Chinese lanterns. My companions
were manicured alive, and I only made my escape in a pagoda, or a junk--I
was in too much of a hurry to notice which--at the imminent peril of my
life. Don't go to China, Mr Duggs."

Mr Duggs rose.

"Young man," he said, sternly, "put away that fatal bottle. I can only
suppose that it is under the influence of drink that you have ventured to
tell me such an irreverent and impossible story."

"Sir," began Mr Bunker, warmly,--for he thought that an outburst of
indignation would probably be the safest way of concluding the
interview,--when he stopped abruptly and listened. All the time his ears
had been alive to anything going on outside, and now he heard a cab rattle
up and stop close by. It might be at Dr Twiddel's, he thought, and,
turning from his visitor, he sprang to the window.

Remarking distantly, "I hear a cab; it is possibly a friend I am
expecting," Mr Duggs stepped to the other window.

It was only, however, a hansom at the door of the next house, out of which
a very golden-haired young lady was stepping. "Aha," said Mr Bunker, quite
forgetting the indignant _role_ he had begun to play; "rather nice! Is
this your friend, Mr