ingford. He
said "Good-night" kindly to little Rosa Elsworthy, looking out with
bright eyes into the darkness at the door of her uncle's shop; but he
said little to Miss Dora, who could not tell what to make of him, and
swallowed her tears as quietly as possible under her veil. When he had
deposited his aunt safely at the inn, the Perpetual Curate hastened
down Grange Lane at a great pace. The first sound he heard on entering
Mrs Hadwin's garden was the clear notes of the stranger's whistle
among the trees; and with an impatient exclamation Mr Wentworth sought
his fellow-lodger, who was smoking as usual, pacing up and down a
shaded walk, where, even in daylight, he was pretty well concealed
from observation. The Curate looked as if he had a little discontent
and repugnance to get over before he could address the anonymous
individual who whistled so cheerily under the trees. When he did speak
it was an embarrassed and not very intelligible call.

"I say--are you there? I want to speak to you," said Mr Wentworth.

"Yes," said the stranger, turning sharply round. "I am here, a dog
without a name. What have you got to say?"

"Only that you must be more careful," said Mr Wentworth again, with a
little stiffness. "You will be recognised if you don't mind. I have
just been asked who you were by--somebody who thought he had seen you
before."

"By whom?"

"Well, by Mr Wodehouse," said the Curate. "I may as well tell you; if
you mean to keep up this concealment you must take care."

"By Jove!" said the stranger, and then he whistled a few bars of the
air which Mr Wentworth's arrival had interrupted. "What is a fellow to
do?" he said, after an interjection. "I sometimes think I had better
risk it all--eh! don't you think so? I can't shut myself up for ever
here."

"That must be as you think best," said the Perpetual Curate, in whom
there appeared no movement of sympathy; and he said no more, though the
doubtful individual by his side lifted an undecided look to his face,
and once more murmured in perplexed tones a troubled exclamation: "A man
must have a little amusement somehow," the stranger said, with an
aggrieved voice; and then abruptly left his unsociable companion, and
went off to his room, where he summoned Sarah to bring lights, and tried
to talk to her a little in utter dearth of society. Mr Wentworth stayed
behind, pacing up and down the darkening walk. The Curate's thoughts
were far from satisfactory. There wa