"Running away, my dear Miss Witherup?" he gasped, with an admirable affectation of innocence. "Why, not at all."
"Then why, Dr. Maclaren," I asked, "were you running towards the docks within ten seconds of the arrival of my train?"
To the gentleman's credit be it said that he never hesitated for a moment.
"Why?" he cried, in the manner of one cut to the heart by an unjust suspicion. "Why? Because, madam, when you got out of that railway carriage I did not see you, and fearing that I had mistaken your message, and that instead of coming from London by rail you were coming from America by steamer, I hastened off down towards the docks in the hope of welcoming you to England, and helping you through the custom-house. You wrong me, madam, by thinking otherwise."
The gentleman's tact was so overwhelmingly fine that I forgave him his fiction, which was not quite convincing, and took him by the hand.
"And now," said I, "may I see you at home?"
A gloomy cloud settled over the Doctor's fine features.
"That is my embarrassment," he said, with a deep sigh. "I haven't any."
"What?" I cried.
"I have been evicted," he said, sadly.