OOD-MORNING, General. I have come to return your call.”

The General stood in the door of his room, holding it half closed behind him. He wore a very old shooting-coat, smeared with many curious stains. Evidently he was engaged upon some unclean work, and evidently, also, he would have preferred me to call at some other hour. I remembered, now, Halfred's dark hints as to his occupation; but I remembered still more distinctly the dark eyes of Miss Unknown, and, whether he desired my company or not, I was determined to spend that morning in his room.

“Morning, mossoo,” he said. “Glad to see you, but—er—I'm afraid I'm rather in a mess at present.”

“You are the better company, then, for a conspirator who is never out of one,” I replied, gayly.

Still he hesitated.

“My dear General, positively I shall not permit you to treat me with such ceremony,” I insisted. “I shall empty your ink-pot over my coat to keep you company if you persist in considering me too respectable.”

Well, who could withstand so importunate a visitor? I entered the carefully guarded chamber, smiling at myself at the little dÉnouement that was to follow, and curious in the mean time to see what kind of a den it was that this amorous dragon dwelt in. The first glance solved the mystery of his labors. An easel stood in one corner, a palette and brushes lay on a table, a canvas rested upon the easel; in a word, my neighbor pursued the arts!

He looked at me a little awkwardly as I glanced round at these things.

“Fact is, I dabble a bit in art,” he explained. “I have nothing to do, don't you know, and—er—I always felt drawn to the arts. Amateur work—mere amateur work, as you can see for yourself, but I flatter myself this ain't so bad, eh? Miss Ara—Ara—what the devil's her name?—Titch. Done from memory, of course; I don't want these busybodies here to know what I'm doing.”

“You keep your proficiency a secret, then?” I said, gazing politely at this wonderful work of memory. It was not very like nor very artistic, and I wished to avoid passing any opinion.

“Never told a soul but you, mossoo, and—er—well, there's only one other in the secret.”

Again I smiled to myself.

“It must be delightful to perpetuate the faces of your lady friends,” I remarked.

The old boy smiled with some complacency.

“That's rather my forte, I consider,” he replied.

“You are fortunate!” I cried. “I would that I had such an excuse for my gallantries!”

“Come now, mossoo, I'm an old boy, remember!” he protested, though he did not seem at all displeased by this innuendo.

“You are at the most dangerous age for a woman's peace of mind.”

“Tuts—nonsense!” said he. “Twenty years ago, I don't mind admitting—er—”

“I understand! And twenty years subsequent to that? Ah, General!”

He laughed good-humoredly. He admitted that for his years he was certainly as youthful as most men. He had become in an excellent temper both with himself and his guest, when suddenly our conversation was interrupted by a knocking at the door. He barely had time to open it when the dÉnouement arrived. In other words, Miss Unknown stepped into the room. Yet at the threshold she paused, for I could see that at the first glance she recognized me and knew not what to make of this remarkable coincidence.

As she stood there she made a picture that put into the shade anything a much greater artist than the General could have painted, with her deep, finely turned chin cast a little upward and her dark, glowing eyes looking half arrogantly, half doubtingly, round the room. I noted again the petulant, wilful expression in the small mouth and the indescribable, untamed air. As before, she was dressed in bright colors, that set her off as a heavy gold frame sets off a picture; only her color this time was a vivid shade of purple.

She paused but for a moment, and then she evidently made up her mind to treat me as a stranger, for she turned her glance indifferent to my host and asked, in an off-hand tone,

“Didn't you know I was coming this morning?”

“I? No,” said he, with an air as embarrassed as I could have wished.

“I left a message yesterday afternoon.”

“I never got it.”

“You mean you forgot it.”

“I mean I never got it,” he repeated, irately this time.

She made a grimace, as much as to say, “Don't lose your temper,” and glanced again at me.

“My niece, Miss Kerry,” said he, hurriedly, introducing me with a jerk of his hand.

His “niece”! I smiled to myself at this euphonism, but bowed as deferentially as if I had really believed her to be his near relation, for I have always believed that the flattery of respect paves the way more readily than any other.

She smiled charmingly, while I by my glance endeavored further to assure her that my discretion was complete.

We exchanged a few polite words, and then she turned contemptuously to the canvas.

“Are you still at this nonsense?” she asked, with a smile, it is true, but not a very flattering one.

“Still at it, Kate,” he replied, looking highly annoyed with her tone.

Evidently this hobby of his was a sore subject between them and one which did not raise him in her estimation. For a moment I was assailed by compunction at having thus let her convict him in the ridiculous act. “Yet, after all, they are May and December.” I reflected, “and if the worst comes to the worst, I can find a much more suitable friend for this 'niece.'”

With a movement that was graceful in spite of its free and easy absence of restraint, she rummaged first for and then in her pocket and produced a letter which she handed to her “uncle,” asking, “What is the meaning of this beastly thing?”

Yes, unquestionably her language, like her carriage and her eyes, had something of the savage queen.

The General read the missive with a frown and glanced in my direction uncomfortably as he answered, “It is obviously—er—”

“Oh, it's by way of being a bill,” she interrupted. “I don't need to be told that. But what am I to do?”

“Pay it.”

“Well, then, I'll need—” She stopped, glanced at me, and then, with a defiantly careless laugh, said, boldly, “I'll need an advance.”

“The deuce you will!” said the General. “At this moment I can scarcely go into—”

“Don't trouble,” she interrupted. “Just write me a check, please.”

Without a word, but with a very sulky expression, the General banged open a writing-desk and hastily scribbled in his check-book, while the undutiful Miss Kerry turned to me as graciously as ever. But I thought I had carried my plot far enough for the present. Besides, she must come down-stairs, and my room was on the ground floor.

“I fear I must leave you, General,” I said.

“I must go, too,” said Miss Kerry, as I turned to make my adieux to her. “Good-bye, uncle. Much obliged for this.”

It seemed to my ear that there was a laugh in that word “uncle,” and as I saw the unfortunate warrior watch our exit with a face as purple as his “niece's” dress, I heartily pitied the foiled Adonis. Yet if fortune chose so to redistribute her gifts, was it for me to complain?

“May I accompany you for a short distance this time?” I asked.

And a couple of minutes later I was gayly walking with her from the house, prepared to hail a cab and hurry away my prize upon the first sign of pursuit. No appearance, however, of a bereaved general officer running hatless and distraught with jealousy behind us. Evidently he had resigned himself to his fate—or did he place such reliance in the fidelity and devotion of his “niece”? Well, we should see about that!

“Then you remembered me?” I said.

“How do you know?”

“By that question. Ah, it has betrayed you! Yes, you do remember the ignorant and importunate foreigner who pursued you with his unpleasing attentions?”

“But it was a mistake, you said,” she replied, with a flash of her eyes that seemed to mean much.

“A mistake, of course,” I said. “And now let us take a cab and have some lunch.”

She appeared a little surprised at this bold suggestion, and recollecting that an appearance of propriety is very rigorously observed in England, often where one would least expect it, I modified my Élan to a more formal gallantry, and very quickly persuaded her to accompany me to the most fashionable restaurant in Piccadilly.

Even then, though she was generous of her smiles and those flashing glances that I could well imagine kindling the gallant heart of General Sholto, and though her talk was dashed with slang and marked with a straightforward freedom, yet she always maintained a sufficient dignity to check any too presumptuous advances. But by this time all compunction for my gallant neighbor had vanished in the delights of Miss Kerry's society, and I was not to be balked so easily.

“To-night I wish you to do me a favor,” I said, earnestly.

“Yes? What is it?” she smiled.

“I have a box at the Gaiety Theatre, and I should like a friend to dine with me first, and then see the play.”

As a matter of fact the box was not yet taken, but how was she to know that?

“And I am to be the friend?” she asked.

“If you will be so kind?”

“My uncle is coming, of course?”

I smiled at her, and she beamed back at me.

“We understand each other,” I thought. “But, my faith, how persistently she keeps up this little farce!”

Aloud I said:

“Of course. Without an uncle by my side I should not even venture to turn out the gas. Would you?”

“Of course not!” she replied.

And so it was arranged that at half-past seven we were to meet at this same restaurant. In the mean time what dreams of happiness!