There was a wistful look on Sir Peter’s face as he replied. "Ah, Brooke! We all live on our illusions. The more we believe, the happier we are!" This was beyond Brooke; but Miss Ruth understood and sighed her assent. *CHAPTER IV* *CONCERNING A MYSTERIOUS LADY, AND AN ELDERLY BEAU* [Illustration: Chapter IV headpiece] This was evidently to be a memorable afternoon in the annals of Pomander Walk; for no sooner had it recovered from its mirth over the Doctor’s antiquarian discovery than Jim, who had been training the sweet peas at the corner of the Admiral’s house, shouted hoarsely: "Admiral! Pirate in the offing!" Such a startling announcement was well calculated to silence all laughter; and the imposing figure who now appeared round the corner certainly did nothing to encourage mirth: a very tall, very gaunt, very bony lady, severely but richly dressed; her face hidden in the remote recesses of a more than usually capacious poke bonnet. She was followed by an enormous footman carrying a gold-headed cane in one hand, while a fat pug reposed on his other arm. The Walk was paralysed and could only stare and gasp. Who was she? Where did she come from? Whom did she want? She stopped and examined the Eyesore through her uplifted _face-à-main_, as if he had been some strange, unpleasant animal. "Fellow," she said, "is this Pomander Lane?" A shudder ran through the Walk. Pomander _Lane_, indeed!—The only answer the lady got from the Eyesore was that at that precise moment he found it agreeable to scratch his back. With an exclamation of disgust she turned from him only to find herself face to face with Jim. Now Jim was not pretty to look at. "Fellow, is this Pomander Lane?" she repeated. "You ’ve a-lost yer bearin’s, mum," replied the old tar huskily and not too cordially. "What savages!" muttered the Lady as she turned to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "You! Is this Pomander Lane?" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had laid himself out to fascinate her with his courtliest manner, but the "You!" with which she addressed him aroused the turkey-cock within him, and it was an icy and raging Brooke-Hoskyn who replied, "This, ma’am, is Pomander _Walk_!" "Same thing," said the Lady contemptuously. "Excuse me, ma’am—!" exclaimed Sir Peter hotly. But she waved him aside and proceeded in a tone intended to be ingratiating, and therefore more offensive than any tone she could have chosen, "My good people"—imagine the Walk’s feelings!—"I have undertaken to look after the morals of this part of your parish. I have made it my duty to give advice and distribute alms." Morals—parish—advice—alms! Had the Walk ever heard such words uttered within its genteel precincts? The Lady turned to Ruth, who happened to be at her side. "Where are your children?" Ruth stood aghast. She could only breathe indignantly, "I am a spinster." "Are there no children?" said the Lady reproachfully.