will have your tea ready at half-past five,' said his mother.
'And I've told her to be sure and boil the eggs three and three-quarter
minutes.'

'And we shall be back about half-past nine,' said Aunt Annie.

'Don't stick at it too closely,' said his mother. 'You ought to take a
little exercise. It's a beautiful afternoon.'

'I shall see,' Henry answered gravely. 'I shall be all right.'

He watched the ladies down the road in the direction of the tea-meeting,
and no sooner were they out of sight than he nipped upstairs and locked
himself in his bedroom. At half-past five Sarah tapped at his door and
announced that tea was ready. He descended to tea in his overcoat, and
the collar of his overcoat was turned up and buttoned across his neck.
He poured out some tea, and drank it, and poured some more into the
slop-basin. He crumpled a piece or two of bread-and-butter and spread
crumbs on the cloth. He shelled the eggs very carefully, and, climbing
on to a chair, dropped the eggs themselves into a large blue jar which
stood on the top of the bookcase. After these singular feats he rang the
bell for Sarah.

'Sarah,' he said in a firm voice, 'I've had my tea, and I'm going out
for a long walk. Tell my mother and aunt that they are on no account to
wait up for me, if I am not back.'

'Yes, sir,' said Sarah timidly. 'Was the eggs hard enough, sir?'

'Yes, thank you.' His generous, kindly approval of the eggs cheered this
devotee.

Henry brushed his silk hat, put it on, and stole out of the house
feeling, as all livers of double lives must feel, a guilty thing. It was
six o'clock. The last domestic sound he heard was Sarah singing in the
kitchen. 'Innocent, simple creature!' he thought, and pitied her, and
turned down the collar of his overcoat.

CHAPTER XVI

DURING THE TEA-MEETING

In spite of the sincerest intention not to arrive too soon, Henry
reached the Louvre Restaurant a quarter of an hour before the appointed
time. He had meant to come in an omnibus, and descend from it at
Piccadilly Circus, but his attire made him feel self-conscious, and he
had walked on, allowing omnibus after omnibus to pass him, in the hope
of being able to get into an empty one; until at last, afraid that he
was risking his fine reputation for exact promptitude, he had suddenly
yielded to the alluring gesture of a cabman.

The commissionaire of the Louvre, who stood six feet six and a half
inches high, who wore a coat like th