Liss went out into the little vestibule, and reappeared, followed by a visitor. Her face was a study. "This gentleman wants to see you, dear," she said solemnly. "I will leave you together!" Marjorie turned hastily round. "No—stay!" she commanded. "How do you do, Uncle Fred?" "I am very well, thank you," said Uncle Fred in a low voice. Apprehension was written upon his features, and his large, weak mouth trembled. This adventure was trying him high. To penetrate into the boudoir of an actress—two actresses, apparently—was practically equivalent to visiting a theatre dressing-room, which he knew to be the last station before perdition. Marjorie shook hands. "Sit down," she said. "I am afraid we are not quite dressed for callers. Do you mind?" Uncle Fred shook his head feebly, guiltily conscious that he did not mind enough. His niece was dressed in a very simple blue serge frock, with touches of scarlet at her waist and wrists. She was thinner and paler than when he had last seen her. Late suppers, of course. She had done something theatrical but undeniably becoming to her hair, which, instead of being discreetly piled upon her head, framed her face in a sort of aureole. In order to shake hands with him she had deposited upon the mantelpiece, without any attempt at concealment, a small powder-puff, with which she had obviously been tampering with that infallible symbol of respectability, a shiny nose. She wore very thin black silk stockings and patent leather shoes, with dangerously high heels. One of the shoes had a hole in the sole, but Marjorie kept that sole glued to the floor throughout the interview. The silk stockings had lisle tops, but naturally Uncle Fred did not know this. Blinking feebly, he turned his attention to Marjorie’s companion. In the obscurity of the vestibule he had not particularly noticed her. He did so now. His pale blue eyes bulged. Before him he beheld a small, fluffy creature in a flimsy garment which she would have called a _negligée_, but which to Uncle Fred looked suspiciously like a nightgown. On her feet were padded pink satin bedroom slippers. Her lips were bright red, and were directing a dazzling smile upon him. There were dark hollows under her large grey eyes. Uncle Fred resolutely averted his gaze, and turned again to his niece. "This is Miss Lyle," announced Marjorie. "We share the flat. Liss, dear, this is my uncle, Mr. Clegg. Well, Uncle Fred, how are you? I’m sorry we can’t offer you tea, but we—we have practically all our meals at a restaurant. Don’t we, Liss?" "We simply live there!" affirmed Liss. "Will you have a cigarette?" continued Marjorie, offering a box. "Don’t mind about that being the last one! There are plenty more." "I do not smoke," replied Uncle Fred coldly.