He was holding his cup aloft. Across its rim his grey eyes were watching her. She held up the “visitor” triumphantly. He nodded. The following day the “tall visitor” came again, and he and Agatha took their second walk down the avenue. Agatha had on a blue linen. It enhanced her colour charmingly. Mr. McVicar carried her parasol, a new one with a brass tip. She was in the best of humour, and stood on her toes now and then while she said something. He was in the best of humour, too. But of a sudden his face became very sober, even anxious. He began to take longer steps. Agatha remarked his nervousness. She looked round. There were three young men close at hand who seemed to be observing Mr. McVicar. They were well-groomed young men. “Collegy,” was Agatha’s verdict. Just then a young man approached them, going the other way. He took off his hat politely with one hand; with the fingers of the other he signed the escort an elaborate good-day. Mr. McVicar gave him a cold stare. Scarcely half a block farther on, a second young man lifted his hat with a bow and--wiggled _his_ fingers! Mr. McVicar glared. When a third young man passed them, with a well-bred smile, a bared head, and a mute greeting, Mr. McVicar’s face became almost distorted. Agatha heard him gurgle. Not a minute later, a fourth young man advanced toward them, one hand rising to his hat as he came on. Mr. McVicar, guiding Agatha, abruptly stepped aside into a shop and made a quick purchase. When they had gained the street again by a side exit, he wrote: “I have a headache. Do you mind if I wear these?” “These” were coloured glasses. “Not--in--the--least,” she declared. The morning was given over to tenement-house inspection, and Agatha was a fairy-figure amid the sordid gloom of it all. Mr. McVicar kept beside her (the inspector led), helping her up long, dark stairways, and down into pit-like cellars, and through dank halls full of poor, little gaping children. When noon came they sought a near-by café. It was while they were here that an extraordinary thing happened. They had gotten comfortably placed, both on the same side of a table--so that he could understand what she was saying (his glasses were off now)--when there entered, in single file, one, two, three, four, five, six, _seven_ well-dressed young men. They seated themselves opposite Agatha and the escort. And, presently, after each had given the menu a casual glance, all began to talk at once--on their fingers! Agatha opened her eyes. “Everyone of them d-- and d--!” she said to herself. “Is this a d-- and d-- café?” Her eyes roved from waiter to waiter. But the seven young men were evidently from Mr. McVicar’s institution, for they caught sight of him a moment later, bowed to him in great surprise, and began to make him finger-signs. He bowed in return, but he regarded them darkly and made no return signs.