it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take it as if it had
been the hand of an old friend and to end the interview with a pleasant
laugh--though laughing was an exercise not often indulged in by Mrs.
Pennycherry.

Mary Jane was standing by the window, her hands folded in front of her,
when Mrs. Pennycherry re-entered the kitchen. By standing close to
the window one caught a glimpse of the trees in Bloomsbury Square and
through their bare branches of the sky beyond.

"There's nothing much to do for the next half hour, till Cook comes
back. I'll see to the door if you'd like a run out?" suggested Mrs.
Pennycherry.

"It would be nice," agreed the girl so soon as she had recovered power
of speech; "it's just the time of day I like."

"Don't be longer than the half hour," added Mrs. Pennycherry.

Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, assembled after dinner in the
drawing-room, discussed the stranger with that freedom and frankness
characteristic of Forty-eight Bloomsbury Square, towards the absent.

"Not what I call a smart young man," was the opinion of Augustus
Longcord, who was something in the City.

"Thpeaking for mythelf," commented his partner Isidore, "hav'n'th any
uthe for the thmart young man. Too many of him, ath it ith."

"Must be pretty smart if he's one too many for you," laughed his
partner.

There was this to be said for the repartee of Forty-eight Bloomsbury
Square: it was simple of construction and easy of comprehension.

"Well it made me feel good just looking at him," declared Miss Kite, the
highly coloured. "It was his clothes, I suppose--made me think of Noah
and the ark--all that sort of thing."

"It would be clothes that would make you think--if anything," drawled
the languid Miss Devine. She was a tall, handsome girl, engaged at the
moment in futile efforts to recline with elegance and comfort combined
upon a horsehair sofa. Miss Kite, by reason of having secured the only
easy-chair, was unpopular that evening; so that Miss Devine's remark
received from the rest of the company more approbation than perhaps it
merited.

"Is that intended to be clever, dear, or only rude?" Miss Kite requested
to be informed.

"Both," claimed Miss Devine.

"Myself? I must confess," shouted the tall young lady's father, commonly
called the Colonel, "I found him a fool."

"I noticed you seemed to be getting on very well together," purred his
wife, a plump, smiling little lady.

"Possibly we were,"