He thought this would be a judicious hour. Professional ladies he had always understood were not early risers, they preferred the day to be well-aired before they got up. In the afternoon they probably rested to prepare themselves for the arduous duties of the evening. He found the place quite easily—a very extensive block of flats of respectable appearance, the rentals of which he thought would be neither cheap nor expensive, just suitable to persons of moderate means. Miss Buckley opened the door herself, it was very likely she did not keep a resident servant. She was a comely, good-looking woman of an unrefined type, looking much younger than her years, which Sellars, piecing together the information he had gathered at Brinkstone, put in the region of fifty. She had a very brilliant complexion, obviously the result of very careful art. She was a trifle inclined to stoutness, but not by any means unbecomingly so, and she had a very pleasant expression. Perhaps she was only brusque when she took a pen in her hand. As she surveyed him, taking in every detail of his immaculate get up and elegant appearance, a twinkle appeared in her rather bold, blue eyes, and she smiled broadly. “I don’t think you need tell me who you are,” she said in a jolly, rather loud voice. “I’ll lay five to one to anybody who likes to take me on that you’re Mr. Sellars.” This was quite a breezy reception, better than the young man had hoped for. Miss Buckley was evidently not a mincing person nor inclined to finnicking speech. Sellars made his best bow, removing his hat with a grace peculiarly his own. “I compliment you on your penetration, Miss Buckley, you have guessed at once. I ran up here on the chance of finding you in, as I am leaving London very shortly, and I didn’t want to waste time in needless correspondence. Now that I am here, I hope you won’t be so cruel as to turn me away.” The music-hall artist looked at him not unkindly, he was a very personable young fellow, and possessed charming manners. She opened the door a little wider. “Well, I suppose I ought to send you to the right about, but then you’d only pester me with more of your polite letters. So come in, and let me know what it is you want of me.” She led the way into a very daintily-furnished little sitting-room, the greater portion of which was taken up with a semi-grand piano on which she, no doubt, practised the vivacious songs that found favour with her public. A cheerful fire burned in the grate. A fair sized round table stood in the centre, and on this was a good sized cake and a decanter of port wine.