he ought
to have a name of his own, so I called him Herbert. He looks like that."

"A girl's name--Maud, for instance, only one doesn't use them in the
garden much----"

"A girl's name, like Pauline, may suit your fountain pen, and Dad may
call the motor 'Mary Jane' when he's pleased with how he's mended her;
but I decided I would have a man's. It sounds better to say, 'Herbert is
seeing me home, thank you.' The sad thing is that I'm sure I shan't keep
him long; he's so pretty. When he's waiting for me in umbrella-stands I
feel nervous, and in trains. He's so unique--so utterly unlike anyone
else's umbrella. I know you'll love him."

I did as soon as ever I saw him coming out of the cloak-room hanging on
her arm. There was a gentle coyness in the turn of Herbert's handle, a
nutty daintiness about his little gold tie which made me look
involuntarily for his socks.

"Now, you wait and see if someone doesn't try to run off with him before
we get home," said Stella-my-niece. "I'll hold him on a long lead so
that people will think he's out by himself, and we'll await
developments."

We settled ourselves by tact and firmness in a crowded _apres matinee_
'bus, and Stella-my-niece, having set down all her belongings the better
to persuade the programme to ride inside her pocket, took Herbert by his
long tassels, leaving him leaning against the seat between herself and
her neighbour, a lady with many trimmings and a book.

"I hope she'll go before we do," said Stella-my-niece in my ear. "I sort
of feel that she'll try to take Herbert."

She did; as she read, her hand reached out and took a grip upon
Herbert's immaculate head! Stella-my-niece stifled a squeak of pure
excitement.

"Oxford Street," announced the conductor dispassionately, and the
trimmed lady shut her book and rose to get out. Stella-my-niece, holding
Herbert by his tassels, smiled indulgently.

"You have my umbrella, I'm afraid," she said sweetly. "It is such a very
uncommon one that I simply couldn't be mistaken."

The trimmed lady looked round; so did everyone in the 'bus. Then she
pointed to a slim object propped against the seat between
Stella-my-niece's blue skirt and my own striped garments.

"That's yours by the gentleman; they're just the same pattern."

So they were!

* * *

As Stella-my-niece said afterwards at tea, the worst of it was that it
proved that Herbert wasn't quite unique; at the best he was a twin. I
think that priv