“Hard, but it was no use. The bishop was out of town, and I had to wait till his return; besides, my position was somewhat insecure. I have had at least two remarkable escapes since I saw you last.”
“Are you safe here?” she asked, hurriedly.
“With your consent, yes.”
She looked a little troubled. “I don’t know that I am doing right, Mr Bev—Bunker, but——”
“Thank you, my friend,” he interrupted, tenderly.
“Don’t,” she began, hastily. “You mustn’t talk like——”
“Francis Beveridge?” he interrupted. “The trouble is, this rascal Bunker bears an unconscionably awkward resemblance to our old friend.”
“You must see that it is quite—ridiculous.”
“Absurd,” he agreed,—“perfectly preposterous. I laugh whenever I think of it!”
Poor Lady Alicia felt like a man at a telephone who has been connected with the wrong person. Again she made a desperate shift to fall back on a becoming pride.