ere was a gentleman."

"This is intolerable!" cried Mrs. Hignett. "Did you tell him that I was
busy?"

"I did not. I loosed him into the dining-room."

"Is he a reporter from one of the newspapers?"

"He is not. He has spats and a tall-shaped hat. His name is Bream
Mortimer."

"Bream Mortimer!"

"Yes, ma'am. He handed me a bit of a kyard, but I dropped it, being
slippy from the dishes."

Mrs. Hignett strode to the door with a forbidding expression. This, as
she had justly remarked, was intolerable. She remembered Bream Mortimer.
He was the son of the Mr. Mortimer who wanted Windles. This visit could
only have to do with the subject of Windles, and she went into the
dining-room in a state of cold fury, determined to squash the Mortimer
family, in the person of their New York representative, once and for
all.

"Good morning, Mr. Mortimer."

Bream Mortimer was tall and thin. He had small bright eyes and a sharply
curving nose. He looked much more like a parrot than most parrots do. It
gave strangers a momentary shock of surprise when they saw Bream
Mortimer in restaurants, eating roast beef. They had the feeling that he
would have preferred sunflower seeds.

"Morning, Mrs. Hignett."

"Please sit down."

Bream Mortimer looked as though he would rather have hopped on to a
perch, but he sat down. He glanced about the room with gleaming, excited
eyes.

"Mrs. Hignett, I must have a word with you alone!"

"You _are_ having a word with me alone."

"I hardly know how to begin."

"Then let me help you. It is quite impossible. I will never consent."

Bream Mortimer started.

"Then you have heard about it?"

"I have heard about nothing else since I met Mr. Bennett in London. Mr.
Bennett talked about nothing else. Your father talked about nothing
else. And now," cried Mrs. Hignett, fiercely, "you come and try to
re-open the subject. Once and for all, nothing will alter my decision.
No money will induce me to let my house."

"But I didn't come about that!"

"You did not come about Windles?"

"Good Lord, no!"

"Then will you kindly tell me why you have come?"

Bream Mortimer seemed embarrassed. He wriggled a little, and moved his
arms as if he were trying to flap them.

"You know," he said, "I'm not a man who butts into other people's
affairs...." He stopped.

"No?" said Mrs. Hignett.

Bream began again.

"I'm not a man who gossips with valets...."

"No?"

"I'm not a man who...."

Mrs. Higne