“Don’t, please, speak any more!” she breathed at last. “You seem to know so much that I am sure you know the address of my house. The telephone-book will, however, provide you with any details that may have escaped your attention. If you will call at noon to-morrow you will be given an envelope at the door. May I pass now, please?” “Why, of course!” said he, and stood aside. But somehow she did not pass immediately. She stared into his face with very wide, childish eyes, and there was a queer sort of hurt smile crucified in their depths. “I have never been spoken to like this before,” she said. “Who are you?” “I am the cavalier of the streets, madam,” said the tall shabby man with the broken nose. She stared at him very thoughtfully. “And is that a good thing to be?” The cavalier of the streets smiled curiously. “I had thought, Mrs. Avalon, that it was I who was detaining you....” “You see,” said Mrs. Avalon gently, “you are the vilest man I have ever met. You are probably the vilest man in the world, and so I am curious. You will have your fifty pounds. Or would you not prefer a hundred?” But the ice of Fay Avalon did not freeze the cavalier of the streets. “I do not accept presents from ladies,” he said. “Fifty is business, but the extra fifty is an insult to a gentleman.” He smiled right into her face. “You may pass, Mrs. Avalon.” “You are a gentleman? You were, perhaps, you mean?” “A gentleman,” said the shabby young man, “is a man who is never _unintentionally_ rude to any one. I am a gentleman.” He stood aside, and swept off his dilapidated hat. She took one step, two, three.... “I do hope,” she murmured swiftly, “that I will never see you again.” The lean, weathered face with the fantastic nose mocked her. Fay Avalon had never been mocked before. “Didn’t I tell you,” he said, “that I was the cavalier of the streets? I am alone, the solitary supporter of chivalry and all manner of outdoor manliness. Thus, it will be very difficult to resist the pleasure of seeing you again, Mrs. Avalon, for you are, without a doubt, a darling. But I will try to resist it, really I will....” “Please,” said Mrs. Avalon, and went swiftly. III The next afternoon Mrs. Avalon had promised to appear at a charity _matinée_ in a playful duologue between Cleopatra and a hearty gentleman alleged to be Mark Antony’s valet; and as she had never gone to the trouble of acquiring a reputation as unreliable--in fact, Fay Avalon was born with “careless habits of accuracy”--and though she was feeling less like Cleopatra than she had ever felt in her life, it was only after she had done her duty by the charity _matinée_ that she set out for the quiet street in Hampstead.