The lady shoved the one arm-chair forward, and after a polite skirmish, Julian was forced to take it. He sat down, disguising from his companion his sudden knowledge that the springs were broken. She, on her part, laid hold of Jessie, dumped the little creature into her lap, and assumed an air of abrupt gentility, pursing her painted lips, and shooting sidelong glances of inquiry at the furniture. Julian could not at once explain his errand. He felt that caution was imperative. Besides, the lady doubtless expected to be entertained at Verrey's or possibly even at Charbonnel's. But Julian had resolved to throw himself upon the lady's hospitality. "It's an awful day," he said. The lady assented, adding that she had not been out. "We are very cosey here," Julian continued, gazing at the small fire that was sputtering in the grate. The lady looked gratified. She felt that the meagre abode which she must name home had received the hallmark of a "toff's" approval. "Now I am going to ask you something," Julian said. "Will you let me have tea with you to-day, and--and--come out with me some evening to the Empire or somewhere, instead?" The lady nodded her fringed head. "Certainly, my dear," she responded. "Proud to give you tea, I'm sure." Suddenly she bounced up, scattering Jessie over the floor. She promenaded to the door, opened it and yelled: "Mrs. Brigg! Mrs. Brigg!" The expostulating feet of the old person ascended wearily from the lower depths of the house. "Lord! Lord! Whatever is it now?" she wheezed. "Please bring up tea for me and this gentleman." The lady assumed the voice of a sucking dove. "Tea! Why, I thought you'd be out to--" The lady shot into the passage and shut the door behind her. After a moment she put her head in and said to Julian: "I'll be back in a minute. She's in a rare tantrum. I must go down and help her. Pardon." And she vanished like a flash. Julian sat feeling rather guilty. To distract himself he got up and looked at the photographs on the mantelpiece. Most of them were of men, but there were two or three girls in tights, and there was one of a stout and venerable woman, evidently highly respectable, seated in an arm-chair, with staring bead-like eyes, but a sweet and gentle mouth. Her hair was arranged in glossy bands. Her hands held a large book, probably a Bible. Julian looked at her and wondered a little how she chanced to be in this _galère_. Then he started and almost exclaimed aloud. For there, at the end of the mantelpiece, was a cabinet photograph of Marr. He was right then in his suspicion. The lady of the feathers was also the lady at the "European." "Sorry to keep you waiting," said a voice behind him. There was a clatter of crockery. His hostess entered bearing a tray, which held a teapot, cups, a large loaf of bread, and some butter, and a milk-jug and sugar-basin. She plumped it down on the table. "Mrs. Brigg _wouldn't_ make toast," she explained. "And I didn't like to keep you."