Tickets for the opera reached Miriam Byrne, in due course, on the morning of the Friday following Gerald Warburton's first visit to the house of Max Van Duren in Spur Alley. Saturday was Miriam's birthday. Beyond an extra kiss from Mr. Byrne, and the expression of good wishes usual on such an occasion, the day brought little or no difference to either father or daughter. The weather was unpleasant, and neither of them stirred out of doors. But when tea time came, the best china was brought out of its retirement, and from some mysterious cupboard was produced a Madeira cake, with a little jar of honey, and some potted shrimps. "Now, papa, dear, draw up to the table," cried Miriam, gaily, as soon as everything had been arranged in order due. "I've put an extra spoonful of green into the pot in order to please you, and if you behave yourself nicely, you shall have an extra lump of sugar in your cup, for you are as fond of sweet things as any schoolgirl." "That's why I'm so fond of you, dear," said Mr. Byrne, drily, as he drew his chair up to the table. Just then came a knock at the door. Miriam opened it, and there stood Mr. Van Duren, with a pretty little rustic basket in his hands, full of freshly-cut flowers. "Good evening, Miss Byrne," he said, in a hesitating sort of way. "I happened to hear Mrs. Bakewell remark this morning, that to-day was your birthday. Such being the case, I have taken the liberty of bringing you these few flowers, of which I beg your acceptance, together with my very best wishes for your health and happiness." "It is very kind of you, Mr. Van Duren--very kind indeed," replied Miriam. "Many thanks for your flowers and good wishes. But pray come inside." He came a few steps into the room, and then Miriam took the basket and smelled at the flowers. "They are indeed lovely," she said. "Yours is the only present that I have had to-day, and nothing else that you could have offered me would have been half so acceptable." The moment he heard the knock, Peter Byrne collapsed, as it were, and became older by a score years in as many seconds. Deaf and senile, he now tottered across the room, his walking-stick in one hand, the other hand held to his ear. "What is it? what is it?" he quavered. "Flowers, eh? Vastly pretty--vastly pretty!" "Mr. Van Duren has brought me these lovely flowers as a birthday present, papa," said Miriam, speaking loudly in his ear. "Very kind of him--very kind indeed," nodding his head at Miriam. "But come in, Mr. Van Duren, come in, sir. Pussy and I were just about to have a quiet cup of tea. Come and join us, sir--come and join us. I like a quiet cup of tea; so does Pussy." "I should be most happy, if I thought--" "If you thought you were not intruding," said Miriam. "You are not doing that, I assure you. See, I will give your flowers the place of honour on my tea-table. But perhaps you are not a tea-drinker--perhaps----"