“Nonsense!” said Mr. Stokes, sternly. “Besides, George would like to see you. I s'pose he won't be long?” he added, turning to Mrs. Henshaw, who was regarding Mr. Bell much as a hungry cat regards a plump sparrow.
“I don't suppose so,” she said, slowly.
“I dare say if we wait a little while—” began Mr. Stokes, ignoring a frantic glance from Mr. Henshaw.
“Come in,” said Mrs. Henshaw, suddenly.
Mr. Stokes entered and, finding that his friend hung back, went out again and half led, half pushed him indoors. Mr. Bell's shyness he attributed to his having lived so long in Ireland.
“He is quite the ladies' man, though,” he said, artfully, as they followed their hostess into the front room. “You should ha' seen 'im the other night on the 'bus. We had a couple o' lady friends o' mine with us, and even the conductor was surprised at his goings on.”
Mr. Bell, by no means easy as to the results of the experiment, scowled at him despairingly.
“Carrying on, was he?” said Mrs. Henshaw, regarding the culprit steadily.
“Carrying on like one o'clock,” said the imaginative Mr. Stokes. “Called one of 'em 'is little wife, and asked her where 'er wedding-ring was.”
“I didn't,” said Mr. Bell, in a suffocating voice. “I didn't.”