I knew, of course, that I had been cornered, and that she knew it too; but in these cases the thick-skinned person always has the advantage. I resolved that that advantage should be as slight as possible. And for a time--though probably not for one moment longer than she wished--I succeeded. As she ate her rissole and sipped her chocolate she talked with animation of this and that--the morning's business, the people in the crowded shop, the theatres, and so on; and then she returned to the subject of the wedding present, the date of my marriage, where we were going to live, and the rest of it. I was as reserved as my unwillingly given invitation allowed me to be, but presently I had to promise to ask Evie what form she would like the present to take. With that, Miss Levey went off at score, speaking of Evie as she had known her. "I suppose she's prettier than ever?" she said. "Such a lovely girl I used to think her! I'm sure you're very lucky, Mr Jeffries, if you don't mind my saying so!" I did rather mind her saying anything about it at all, but I answered quite conventionally that I considered myself very lucky indeed. "Those were jolly days!" she passed on into reminiscence. "I loved that poky little old place in Holborn!... Do you remember the Secretary Bird, Mr Jeffries?" I did remember Weston, the wan, middle-aged "professor." "Poor old soul! I wonder if he's going with them to the new place? Of course you know they're pulling the old one down?" "Yes." "Such a huge one, that one in Kingsway! All the latest improvements--everything! But it won't ever be the same to me.... 'Not room to turn round'?... No, I suppose there wasn't, but I suppose I'm rather faithful to old places and old faces. You aren't, Mr Jeffries?" "Not just because they're old," I fancied. "Oh, I think I am, just because they're old!" she replied brightly.