bly one of those common
adventuresses of whom one heard so often. He had never actually met
one--they did not suit carpet-slippers--but one knew how to deal with
them. It was merely a matter of tact and _savoir-faire_.

Yes, it would be fun when he flourished the letters in the face of the
family; how amazed Clare would be and how it would please Robin!--and
then he suddenly awoke to the fact that time was getting on, and that
he had done nothing. And, after all, there were only two possible
lines of action--to write or to seek a personal interview. Of these he
infinitely preferred the first. He need not leave his room, he could
direct operations from his arm-chair, and he could preserve that
courtesy and decorum that truly befitted a Trojan. But he had grave
fears that the letter would not be accepted; Robin's had been scorned
and his own might suffer the same fate--no, he was afraid that it must
be a personal interview.

He had come to this conclusion reluctantly, and now he hesitated to act
on it; she might be violent, and he felt that he could not deal with
melodrama. But the thought of ultimate victory supported him. The
delicious surprise of it, the gratitude, the security of his authority
from all attack for the rest of his days! Ah yes, it was worth it.

He dressed carefully in a suit of delicate grey, wearing, as he did on
all public occasions, an eyeglass. He took some time over his
preparations and drank a whisky and soda before starting; he had
secured the address from Robin, without, he flattered himself, any
discovery as to the reason of his request. 10 Seaview Terrace! Ah
yes, he knew where that was--a gloomy back street, quite a fitting
place for such an affair.

He was still uncertain as to the plan of campaign, but he could not
conceive it credible that any young woman in any part of the British
Empire would stand up long against a Trojan--it would, he felt certain,
prove easy.

He noticed with pleasure the attention paid to him by the down-at-heels
servant--it was good augury for the success of the interview. He
lowered his voice to a deep bass whilst asking for Miss Feverel, and he
fixed his eyeglass at a more strikingly impressive angle. He looked at
women from four points of view, and he had, as it were, a sliding scale
of manners on which he might mark delicately his perception of their
position. There was firstly the Countess, or Titled Nobility. Here
his manner was slightly