He proceeded to describe himself, and added—
“If you have any doubt about me, let the dog out, he’ll soon tell you if I’m a genuine case or an impostor.”
The dog was whining inside, and trying frantically to get out. The girl debated, and then said—
“All right; but you won’t mind waiting a minute?”
“Oh, not at all!” he replied, with sweet sarcasm. “I don’t mind in the least how long I stand here in the cold. I quite enjoy it.”
Then suddenly the door was flung open, and Eileen, holding a photo of the Head of Affairs in her hand, which she had fetched down from my bedroom, started to compare it carefully with the original.
“Yes,” she sighed; “you are something like it.”
But the visitor had walked in unceremoniously, with the joyful dog leaping around.
“Now,” he said severely, as he took off his coat. “Where is your mistress?”
Eileen looked mournful. “If you please, sir, I’m very sorry, but I told you a wicked story just now. The mistress isn’t entertaining friends”—that was self-evident, as the cottage living-rooms were empty, and it was hardly the kind of day one would choose to entertain friends in the garden—“and she isn’t ill in bed neither. She isn’t here at all. But I didn’t like to say so at first. I was afraid, not knowing who you were, and coming after the shock. Have you heard the awful news?”