“Mr Balm?” said the gentleman. “This is kind of you--this is more than kind. To come in person to answer my appeal? I had not expected such distinction, such consideration, and it makes me proud. Pray take a chair, sir, and let us discuss this matter.” Gilead, immensely perplexed, bowed and seated himself. He saw before him a fluffy fiery little man, wearing spectacles like burning glasses, and clad in a blazing rhubarb tweed, with knickerbockers and bright brown shoes. He was snappy in his movements, jerky in his speech, and, in disposition, he alternated, it seemed, between white heats of enthusiasm and dead ashes of depression. “Your Agency, sir,” he said, “justifies its title to being the most prompt and princely institution of its kind. I am favoured in a visit from its founder.” “Its representative,” corrected Gilead. Mr Brown raised his hands and eyes with an air of polite deprecation. “True,” he said; “we know your humour and respect it, Mr Balm. I say no more. I am completely dumb.” “Well,” said Gilead, a little chilly: “as to the purpose of my visit, sir, I was led to suppose that the--the form of appeal somewhat lacked your sanction.” “Not at all,” said Mr Brown, with a surprised look. “How could you have gathered that impression when I dictated its terms myself?” “O! I didn’t know,” said the visitor. “I was misenlightened, no doubt--made the victim very possibly of a trifling hoax.” He smiled. “Then the little lady’s name was an intentional mask?” “I don’t know, sir, what you mean by a mask,” said Mr Brown with some apparent heat. “It was quoted to illustrate a very genuine sentiment. If you had said a _bait_, I might have admitted the impeachment.” “A bait, then,” said Gilead--“and a sweet one.” “I am indebted to you for the term, Mr Balm,” said the gentleman, with a certain dry dignity; “but I can hold it hardly applicable to a personality endowed with such supreme gifts of force and intelligence. I would as soon call the Mother of the Gracchi _sweet_, sir, for my part.” Gilead felt himself at a loss for words. Could it be possible that the little girl so contradicted her appearance as to be an infant phenomenon of an advanced type? “Well, sir,” he said, utterly at sea--“a bait of whatever nature you please. In any case, I am to understand, its purpose was to find someone who would be willing to take this discarded pet off your hands?” Mr Brown rose from his chair. “Sir--Mr Balm!” he exclaimed. “To secure a kind home for it,” explained Gilead, “whether because it is old, or because it bites, or--” Mr Brown seized up a heavy paper-weight, poised it an instant furiously, and replaced it on the desk calmly. “I think, I am sure,” he said, “that there must be some mistake.” Gilead, risen also, faced him gravely. “Would you mind telling me,” he said, “to what you are alluding all this time?”