He was not interested in the subject of tea, but at the same time, being a gentleman, he hardly liked to make it too patent that he had come about an introduction to a woman, and that further than obtaining that introduction he was not prepared to consider our acquaintance. “You’ve got a jolly little place here,” he said, looking round. I knew that in his heart he considered it somewhat overdone. “I am a Jew, and as an Oriental I defy the canons of Western good taste in order to get the amount of colour necessary to my appetite.” He did not quite follow, and I did not intend that he should. It was of no account. There were limits even to my adaptability, and I am afraid I never could have adapted myself to the idiosyncrasies of Sir Anthony Cross. I don’t think he had a single delicate sentiment in him. After a time, and when I considered he had listened to me long enough to be sufficiently subdued, I said: “Oh, by the way, I met Holland, Mrs. Holland’s husband, you know, a few days ago.” “Yes?” He made a valiant effort to conceal his interest. “They are only just married, and of course very much in love.” “What is he?” “Well, as far as I know, he is something in his father’s business. His father is enormously wealthy—owns a couple of newspapers. I don’t think he’ll hold out much longer though, and then the young people will come into everything.” Riches did not mean much to Sir Anthony Cross. He had eighty thousand a year, so report said. He was evidently too obsessed with the idea of Sibella to be turned aside by a husband. “Of course,” I continued, “her brother is my greatest friend; we were at school together. She and I used to be sweethearts when we were children, but when Lionel Holland came on the scene he cut me out.” “She looks a charming woman, and I should very much like to know her.” “I can introduce you to Holland if you like. I’ll ask them both to dine and meet you.” Sir Anthony hardly disguised his joy. “I shall be delighted,” he said. “Then I’ll let you know when I’ve fixed things up.” I gave him the opportunity of departing, but he stayed on, talking incessantly of Sibella. He was so infatuated as to be unable to appreciate how obvious he was making it that he was seeking an introduction to a married woman because he was in love with her. I knew that Sir Anthony was a friend of Ughtred Gascoyne’s, and it might so happen that he would be useful to me in that direction. “Have you known Mrs. Goodsall long?” he asked. “A few weeks.” “Don’t know Gascoyne, do you?” “Who is he?” “Ughtred Gascoyne; I thought everybody knew him. He’s a great pal of hers. People do say things, but I don’t believe it myself. I mention him because I’ve heard a rumour that her husband is dead, and that she and Gascoyne are going to be married.” “Indeed?” “Of course they’ve always been thick, but it isn’t often the man does the right thing.” I laughed.