Two days after his dinner with Rupert Ainsleigh, the Major spick and span as usual,--he always looked as though he had stepped out of a bandbox,--was strutting up the Avenue. Half way along he came face to face with a withered little woman, who looked like the bad fairy of the old nursery tales. She wore a poke bonnet, a black dress and, strange to say, a scarlet shawl. Her age might have been about fifty-five, but she looked even older. With her dress picked up, and holding a flower in her hand, she came mincing along smiling at the world with a puckered face and out of a pair of very black and brilliant eyes. She looked a quaint old-fashioned gentlewoman of the sort likely to possess a good income, for it seemed that no pauper would have dared to dress in so shabby and old-fashioned a manner. Consequently it was strange that the gallant Major should have showed a disposition to turn tail when he set eyes on her. She might indeed have been the veritable witch she looked, so pale turned Major Tidman's ruddy face. But the old dame was not going to let him escape in this way. "Oh good morning," she said in a sharp voice like a saw, "how well you are looking dear Major Tidman--really so very well. I never saw you look younger. The rose in your button-hole is not more blooming. How do you keep your youth so? I remember you--" But the Major cut her short. He had enough of flattering words which he guessed she did not mean, and didn't want her to remember anything, for he knew her memory extended disagreeably to the time when he had been a poor and humble nobody. "I'm in a hurry Miss Pewsey" he said twirling his stick, "good-morning ma'am--morning." "If you're going to see Dr. Forge," said Miss Pewsey, her black eyes glittering like jet. "I've just come from his house. He is engaged." "I can wait I suppose, Miss Pewsey," said Tidman bristling, "that is, supposing I am calling on the doctor." "Then you really are: not on account of your health I'm sure. I do hope you aren't ill, dear Major. We all look forward to you shining at the ball, which is to take place at the Hotel Bristol." "I may be there, Miss Pewsey. I may be there,--in fact," the Major flourished his stick again, "I am one of the stewards." Miss Pewsey clapped together a pair of small claws encased in shabby cotton gloves. "There," she cried in a shriller voice than ever. "I knew it. I said so to my Sophia. Of course you know I always call dear Miss Wharf my Sophia; we have been friends for years--oh yes, for years. We grew on one stem and--" "You'll excuse me, ma'am--" "Oh yes--I know you are so busy. But I was saying, that you can give me a ticket for my nephew, Mr. Burgh--" "The tickets are for sale at the hotel," said Tidman gruffly.