Monday evening went so far as to complain of its flatness to the wide-
eyed landlord of the "Royal George."

"Too much cellar-work," he said, as he finished his glass and made for
the door.

"Too much! 'Ere, come 'ere," said the landlord, thickly. "I want to
speak to you."

The expert shook his head, and, passing out into, the street, changed
colour as he saw Miss Garland approaching. In a blundering fashion he
clutched at his hat and stammered out a "Good evening."

Miss Garland returned the greeting and, instead of passing on, stopped
and, with a friendly smile, held out her hand. Mr. Sharp shook it
convulsively.

"You are just the man I want to see," she exclaimed. "Aunt and I have
been talking about you all the afternoon."

Mr. Sharp said "Really!"

"But I don't want uncle to see us," pursued Miss Garland, in the low
tones of confidence. "Which way shall we go?"

Mr. Sharp's brain reeled. All ways were alike to him in such company.
He walked beside her like a man in a dream.

"We want to give him a lesson," said the girl, presently. "A lesson that
he will remember."