Chilcote still held the cigarette between his lips. The paper
had become dry, and he moistened it as he leaned towards his
companion.

"Don't mind me," he said. "I'm rather--rather unstrung
to-night, and this thing gave me a jar. To be candid, my
imagination took head in the fog, and I got to fancy I was
talking to myself--"

"And pulled up to find the fancy in some way real?"

"Yes. Something like that."

Both were silent for a moment. Chilcote pulled hard at his
cigarette, then, remembering his obligations, he turned
quickly to the other.

"Won't you smoke?" he asked.

The stranger accepted a cigarette from the case held out to
him; and as he did so the extraordinary likeness to himself
struck Chilcote with added force. Involuntarily he put out
his hand and touched the other's arm.

"It's my nerves!" he said, in explanation. "They make me want
to feel that you are substantial. Nerves play such beastly
tricks!" He laughed awkwardly.

The other glanced up. His expression on the moment was