“George!” she exclaimed, sharply.
Mr. Stokes smiled. “That ain't George,” he said, gleefully; “That's my friend, Mr. Alfred Bell. Ain't it a extraordinary likeness? Ain't it wonderful? That's why I brought 'im up; I wanted George to see 'im.”
Mrs. Henshaw looked from one to the other in wrathful bewilderment.
“His living image, ain't he?” said Mr. Stokes. “This is my pal George's missis,” he added, turning to Mr. Bell.
“Good afternoon to you,” said that gentleman, huskily.
“He got a bad cold coming from Ireland,” explained Mr. Stokes, “and, foolish-like, he went outside a 'bus with me the other night and made it worse.”
“Oh-h!” said Mrs. Henshaw, slowly. “Indeed! Really!”
“He's quite curious to see George,” said Mr. Stokes. “In fact, he was going back to Ireland tonight if it 'adn't been for that. He's waiting till to-morrow just to see George.”
Mr. Bell, in a voice huskier than ever, said that he had altered his mind again.