it's a him?"

"Yes, sir; a gentleman," with a pursing of the lips.

"Young, I suppose?"

"Not much older than you, sir. But he has seen a lot of the world."

This was accepted as an unconscious reflection on his own experience.

"Been here long?"

"About two months, sir, this time. I have had him staying with me
before. He belongs to Laysford, you see. He comes and goes as the fancy
takes him. Most of his time he spends in London."

"In London," said Henry, who still dreamed dreams, although he was an
editor so soon. "Do you happen to know his occupation?"

"He writes, sir, I think, like you do. Leastways, he is often at it in
his room upstairs, and is very particular about any of his papers being
touched."

"And he was speaking to you of me, you say?"

"Yes, sir. He asked me who you were. I told him you were the editor or
something of the _Leader_. He seemed quite interested, and said he would
like to come down and meet you some evening, if you had no objection."

"None whatever. On the contrary, I should be very pleased to make his
acquaintance; and perhaps you would be good enough to tell him so."

"I will give him your message, sir. I am sure you would like him, for he
has a way of making himself liked by everybody."

"You make me quite anxious to meet him, Mrs. Arkwright. By the way, I
don't think you mentioned his name."

"It's a strange name for a gentleman, sir," replied Mrs. Arkwright, the
pale ghost of a smile chasing across her worn features--"Phineas
Puddephatt. We call him Mr. P. for short. His family used to be very
well known in Laysford. You see, he is a gentleman of some fortune."

Henry found himself dangerously near to open laughter at mention of the
egregious name, but he succeeded in commanding his features, perhaps
from fear of shocking the prim Mrs. Arkwright, who had carried on a
longer conversation with him than he could have believed possible from
so reserved a lady. The most he could venture by way of facetiousness
was:

"Then, until we meet I shall call him 'the mysterious Mr. P.'"

With the flicker of another smile the landlady left her paying guest to
the enjoyment of his supper and thoughts of the comic muse who could
couple the sobbing of a 'cello with Puddephatt.

A week or more went past with those two sleeping under the same roof,
but a series of engagements prevented Henry from hitting off just the
moment for meeting. One Saturday evening, when both were at home,