Major Fitz-David lifted my hand again from my lap and drew his chair as close as possible to mine. I looked at him gravely and tried to release my hand. Major Fitz-David declined to let go of it, and proceeded to tell me why. “I have just heard you speak for the first time,” he said. “I am under the charm of your voice. Dear Mrs. Woodville, bear with an old fellow who is under the charm! Don’t grudge me my innocent little pleasures. Lend me--I wish I could say _give_ me--this pretty hand. I am such an admirer of pretty hands! I can listen so much better with a pretty hand in mine. The ladies indulge my weakness. Please indulge me too. Yes? And what were you going to say?” “I was going to say, Major, that I felt particularly sensible of your kind welcome because, as it happens, I have a favor to ask of you.” I was conscious, while I spoke, that I was approaching the object of my visit a little too abruptly. But Major Fitz-David’s admiration rose from one climax to another with such alarming rapidity that I felt the importance of administering a practical check to it. I trusted to those ominous words, “a favor to ask of you,” to administer the check, and I did not trust in vain. My aged admirer gently dropped my hand, and, with all possible politeness, changed the subject. “The favor is granted, of course!” he said. “And now, tell me, how is our dear Eustace?” “Anxious and out of spirits.” I answered. “Anxious and out of spirits!” repeated the Major. “The enviable man who is married to You anxious and out of spirits? Monstrous! Eustace fairly disgusts me. I shall take him off the list of my friends.” “In that case, take me off the list with him, Major. I am in wretched spirits too. You are my husband’s old friend. I may acknowledge to _you_ that our married life is just now not quite a happy one.” Major Fitz-David lifted his eyebrows (dyed to match his whiskers) in polite surprise. “Already!” he exclaimed. “What can Eustace be made of? Has he no appreciation of beauty and grace? Is he the most insensible of living beings?” “He is the best and dearest of men,” I answered. “But there is some dreadful mystery in his past life--” I could get no further; Major Fitz-David deliberately stopped me. He did it with the smoothest politeness, on the surface. But I saw a look in his bright little eyes which said, plainly, “If you _will_ venture on delicate ground, madam, don’t ask me to accompany you.” “My charming friend!” he exclaimed. “May I call you my charming friend? You have--among a thousand other delightful qualities which I can see already--a vivid imagination. Don’t let it get the upper hand. Take an old fellow’s advice; don’t let it get the upper hand! What can I offer you, dear Mrs. Woodville? A cup of tea?” “Call me by my right name, sir,” I answered, boldly. “I have made a discovery. I know as well as you do that my name is Macallan.”