"Dinner!" repeated Mrs. Henshaw, in a terrible voice. "You go and tell
that creature you were on the 'bus with to get your dinner."

Mr. Henshaw made a gesture of despair. "I tell you," he said
emphatically, "it wasn't me. I told you so last night. You get an idea
in your head and--"

"That'll do," said his wife, sharply. "I saw you, George Henshaw, as
plain as I see you now. You were tickling her ear with a bit o' straw,
and that good-for-nothing friend of yours, Ted Stokes, was sitting
behind with another beauty. Nice way o' going on, and me at 'ome all
alone by myself, slaving and slaving to keep things respectable!"

"It wasn't me," reiterated the unfortunate.

"When I called out to you," pursued the unheeding Mrs. Henshaw, "you
started and pulled your hat over your eyes and turned away. I should
have caught you if it hadn't been for all them carts in the way and
falling down. I can't understand now how it was I wasn't killed; I was a
mask of mud from head to foot."

Despite his utmost efforts to prevent it, a faint smile flitted across
the pallid features of Mr. Henshaw.

"Yes, you may laugh," stormed his wife, "and I've no doubt them two
beauties laughed too. I'll take care you don't have much more to laugh
at, my man."

She flung out of the room and began to wash up the crockery. Mr.
Henshaw, after standing irresolute for some time with his hands in his