All would have been well had I explained the real state of affairs to this annoying man; but, unfortunately for myself, I loathe entering upon explanations to anybody about anything.
This it is to smoke the Arcadia.

When I ring for a time-table and William John brings coals instead, I accept the coals as a substitute.
Much, then, did I dread a discussion with Scudamour, his surprise when he heard that I was Henry, and his comments on my youthful appearance.
Besides, I was smoking the best of all mixtures.

There was no likelihood of my meeting Scudamour again, so the easiest way to get rid of him seemed to be to humor him.

I therefore told him that Henry was in India, married, and doing well.

"Remember me to Henry when you write to him," was Scudamour's last remark to me that evening.
[Illustration] A few weeks later some one tapped me on the shoulder in Oxford Street.
It was Scudamour.