Major Fitz-David lifted his well-painted eyebrows in polite surprise. “What is the happy book which has interested you so deeply?” he asked. “The book,” I answered, “is the Trial of my husband for the murder of his first wife.” “Don’t mention that horrid book!” he exclaimed. “Don’t speak of that dreadful subject! What have beauty and grace to do with Trials, Poisonings, Horrors? Why, my charming friend, profane your lips by talking of such things? Why frighten away the Loves and the Graces that lie hid in your smile. Humor an old fellow who adores the Loves and the Graces, and who asks nothing better than to sun himself in your smiles. Luncheon is ready. Let us be cheerful. Let us laugh and lunch.” He led me to the table, and filled my plate and my glass with the air of a man who considered himself to be engaged in one of the most important occupations of his life. Benjamin kept the conversation going in the interval. “Major Fitz-David brings you some news, my dear,” he said. “Your mother-in-law, Mrs. Macallan, is coming here to see you to-day.” My mother-in-law coming to see me! I turned eagerly to the Major for further information. “Has Mrs. Macallan heard anything of my husband?” I asked. “Is she coming here to tell me about him?” “She has heard from him, I believe,” said the Major, “and she has also heard from your uncle the vicar. Our excellent Starkweather has written to her--to what purpose I have not been informed. I only know that on receipt of his letter she has decided on paying you a visit. I met the old lady last night at a party, and I tried hard to discover whether she were coming to you as your friend or your enemy. My powers of persuasion were completely thrown away on her. The fact is,” said the Major, speaking in the character of a youth of five-and-twenty making a modest confession, “I don’t get on well with old women. Take the will for the deed, my sweet friend. I have tried to be of some use to you and have failed.” Those words offered me the opportunity for which I was waiting. I determined not to lose it. “You can be of the greatest use to me,” I said, “if you will allow me to presume, Major, on your past kindness. I want to ask you a question; and I may have a favor to beg when you have answered me.” Major Fitz-David set down his wine-glass on its way to his lips, and looked at me with an appearance of breathless interest. “Command me, my dear lady--I am yours and yours only,” said the gallant old gentleman. “What do you wish to ask me?” “I wish to ask if you know Miserrimus Dexter.” “Good Heavens!” cried the Major; “that _is_ an unexpected question! Know Miserrimus Dexter? I have known him for more years than I like to reckon up. What _can_ be your object--” “I can tell you what my object is in two words,” I interposed. “I want you to give me an introduction to Miserrimus Dexter.”