then young Lettice Eden, had thought exactly the same
thing of those who stood in her way to the same visionary Paradise.

Temple Bar was just left behind him, and the Duck was near, when to
Aubrey's surprise, and not by any means to his satisfaction, a hand was
laid upon his shoulder.

"Hans! you here?"

"Truly so. Where look you I should be an half-hour after closing time?"

This was a most awkward contretemps. How should Hans be got rid of
before the Duck was reached?

"You are on your way to the White Bear," said Hans, in the tone of one
who states an incontrovertible fact, "Have with you."

Aubrey privately wished Hans in the Arctic Sea or the torrid zone, or
anywhere out of the Strand for that afternoon. And as if to render his
discomfiture more complete, here came Mr Winter and Tom Rookwood, arm
in arm, just as they reached Mrs More's door. What on earth was to be
done?

Mr Thomas Rookwood, whose brain was as sharp as a needle, guessed the
situation in a moment, and with much amusement, from a glance at
Aubrey's face. He, of course, at once recognised Hans, and was at least
as well aware as either that Hans represented the forces of law and
order, and subordination to lawful authority, while Aubrey stood as the
representative of the grand principle that every man should do what is
right in his own eyes. A few low-toned words to Mr Winter preceded a
doffing of both the plumed hats, and the greeting from Tom Rookwood as
they passed, of--

"Good even to you both. Charming weather!"

A scarcely perceptible wink of Tom's left eye was designed to show
Aubrey that his position was understood, and action taken upon it.
Aubrey saw and comprehended the gesture. Hans saw it also, but did not
comprehend it except as a sign of some private understanding between the
two. They walked on together, Aubrey engaged in vexed meditation as to
how he was to get rid of Hans. But Hans had no intention of allowing
himself to be dismissed. He began to talk, and Aubrey had to answer,
and could not satisfy himself what course to pursue, till he found
himself at the door of the White Bear.

Charity was at the door, doing what every housemaid was then compelled
to do, namely, pouring her slops into the gutter.

"Eh, Mestur Aubrey, is that yo'?" said she. "'Tis a month o' Sundays
sin' we've seen you. You might come a bit oftener, I reckon, if you'd a
mind. Stand out o' th' way a minute, do, while I teem these here s