It was the funniest interview! He had brought down a copy of _Punch_ (a week old), with his wife's compliments "in case I should like to see it". That was the excuse; the real reason was obviously to survey the extraordinary spinster of the basement flat, and discover if she were quite mad or just innocently eccentric. I could see him peering at me out of his tired, worried eyes, and if ever I worked hard to worm myself into a man's good graces, I did it during the next half-hour. I pricked my ears, listening for "clues," and when one came, I played up to it with all my skill, agreeing with him, soothing him, hanging on his words. He looked almost as tired as his wife; there were shiny patches on his coat; his hair was turning white above the ears; he had the look of a man driven beyond his strength. I made him a cup of coffee, good coffee! over which he sighed appreciatively. I told him I liked the smell of smoke. I offered him the _Spectator_ in exchange for _Punch_. At the end of half an hour he was looking at me wistfully, and saying in quite a natural, boyish voice:-- "I say, it was nailing good of you to offer to take out the kiddies to save my wife. She was quite touched. She does need a rest, poor girl, but, of course--" "Don't say `of course' you cannot accept! The only `of course' is to take me at my word. Mr Manners, may I say exactly what I think?" He looked startled and said, "Please do!" (Mem. I must try to remember that an impulsive manner is not suitable to grey hairs!) "Well, it's just this; if you won't allow me to help your wife to have a little rest now, she will be obliged to take a longer one later on! That cough needs care. I know something about nursing, and I'm sure that if she goes on as she is doing now, she'll break down altogether." "I know it," he said miserably. "I've been feeling the same myself. That was why--to-night--when she told me, I--" "Came down to see for yourself if I could be trusted!" I said laughing. "And what is your verdict, Mr Manners? Do I look as if I would kidnap babies? Do I look as if I had strength enough to push a pram?" He glanced at my grey locks, and said tactfully:-- "Bobby could walk part of the time. Kensington is fortunately flat. Miss Harding, I--I am very grateful. It's most awfully good of you to worry about such perfect strangers. If you _will_ relieve my wife for a few days, I shall be most awfully grateful!" So it was arranged. I danced a jig of joy when I went back to my room, and caught sight of my elderly reflection doing it in the glass, and laughed till I cried. My work had begun. The thin end of the wedge had wormed its way in. Now to push forward.