He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at the
window. Mrs. Henshaw scrutinized him gravely.

"It's no good," she said, despairingly. "I can't tell. I must see you
both together."

Mr. Henshaw ground his teeth. "But where is he?" he inquired.

"He went off with Ted Stokes," said his wife. "If you're George you'd
better go and ask him."

She prepared to close the window, but Mr. Henshaw's voice arrested her.

"And suppose he is not there?" he said.

Mrs. Henshaw reflected. "If he is not there bring Ted Stokes back with
you," she said at last, "and if he says you're George, I'll let you in."
The window closed and the light disappeared. Mr. Henshaw waited for some
time, but in vain, and, with a very clear idea of the reception he would
meet with at the hands of Mr. Stokes, set off to his lodging.

If anything, he had underestimated his friend's powers. Mr. Stokes,
rudely disturbed just as he had got into bed, was the incarnation of
wrath. He was violent, bitter, and insulting in a breath, but Mr.
Henshaw was desperate, and Mr. Stokes, after vowing over and over again
that nothing should induce him to accompany him back to his house, was
at last so moved by his entreaties that he went upstairs and equipped
himself for the journey.

"And, mind, after this I never want to see your face again," he said, as