An _habituée_ of the place, a woman to whom he had spoken casually on one or two occasions, came up and seated herself beside him. "You always remind me of Burns’ poem, Mr. Brand," she said archly. "You look ’like a chiel amangst us takin’ notes.’ Aren’t you often abused socially for being so critical?" "Critical—now I wonder what you mean by critical?" said Brand. The woman laughed again, tugging ruthlessly at her gloves. "Oh, pulling holes, I suppose. You look at us all as though you could strip us threadbare. I’ve heard lots of people say the same. Now tell me, aren’t you a great personage in London?" Brand smiled. "I am only a looker-on, dear lady. Now and again I give or withhold a word of advice. That’s all. Few people have your perspicacity. Men of force are usually supposed to have athletic physiques. Now sport, and all things appertaining thereto, have always seemed to me—rather cruel and terrible. They are always subtle pleasures which appeal to me. Goths and Philistines say that the taste of absinthe reminds them of bad drains; whereas to me it’s of a quite unparalleled purity. Now there’s an odd flavour about life as there is about absinthe; and the odder it is the more it appeals to me." "I think my friend wants me," said the lady, rather nervously. She swept away hurriedly. Brand watched her exit with a smile. Provincial women have only one charm; it is easy to be rid of them when once they bore you. You have only to hint at abnormality, or give the merest suggestion of what, in their own vernacular, would be called "improper," to send them scuttling away like frightened sheep. He rose leisurely and looked at the clock in the hall. Two—no, Mrs. Farquharson was eight minutes late. Careless, that. For the future he must make her realize that he expected her to be punctual. The position had shifted; it was he who now directed, and she who had to obey. He crossed to the far corner of the lounge, seating himself under the alcove immediately facing the door. Presently the green car arrived, and he saw Dora emerge from it hurriedly, and run up the broad steps, with some amusement. Her obvious inner tremors were a tribute to his power. She spoke to the hall porter anxiously, and was ushered in full of apologies and mental disturbance. "I thought I should never get off," she said. "It takes such an awful time to get down here, and the chauffeur took a wrong turning at Croydon. I daren’t risk coming to such a place again. What should I do if Richard were to question the man as to where I’ve been? He knows I never do anything without a motive."