If he does, next time, p'r'aps, he won't escape so
easy."
"You're quite right," said Mr. Carter, blandly. "I'll get a new face
first thing to-morrow morning. I ought to have done it before."
He crossed to the door and, nodding to the fermenting Mr. Evans, bowed to
the profile of Miss Evans and walked slowly out. Envy of Mr. Simmons was
mingled with amazement at his deplorable lack of taste and common sense.
He would willingly have changed places with him. There was evidently a
strong likeness, and----
Busy with his thoughts he came to a standstill in the centre of the
footpath, and then, with a sudden air of determination, walked slowly
back to the house.
"Yes?" said Mr. Evans, as the door opened and the face of Mr. Carter was
thrust in. "What have you come back for?"
The other stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him.
"I have come back," he said, slowly--"I have come back because I feel
ashamed of myself."
"Ashamed of yourself?" repeated Mr. Evans, rising and confronting him.
Mr. Carter hung his head and gazed nervously in the direction of the
girl. "I can't keep up this deception," he said, in a low but distinct
voice. "I am Bert Simmons. At least, that is the name I told you four
years ago."
"I knew I hadn't made a mistake," roared Mr. Evans to his son. "I knew
him well enough. Shut the door, Jim. Don't let him go."
"I don't want to go," said Mr. Carter, with a glance in the direction of
Nancy.
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