itting before a
Remington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome.
Her face fell, however, when she saw that I was a stranger, and
she sat down again and asked me the object of my visit.

The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme
beauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and
her cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with the
exquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at
the heart of the sulphur rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the
first impression. But the second was criticism. There was
something subtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of
expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip
which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are
after-thoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was
in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking
me the reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until
that instant how delicate my mission was.

"I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing your father." It was a
clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.

"There is nothing in common between my father and me," she said.
"I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not
for the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I
might have starved for all that my father cared."

"It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come
here to see you."

The freckles started out on the lady's face.

"What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers
played nervously over the stops of her typewriter.

"You knew him, did you not?"

"I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If
I am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest
which he took in my unhappy situation."

"Did you correspond with him?"

The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes.

"What is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply.

"The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I
should ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our
control."

She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she
looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner.

"Well, I'll answer," she said. "What are your questions?"

"Did you correspond with Sir Charles?"

"I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his
delicacy and his generosity."

"Have you the dates of those let