When she was alone she gingerly touched the letter. It was not addressed. The expression on her face was as though she was breathing the air of a pest-house. “I see,” said the note, “that you think me even viler than I am. That is what I intended. By giving me money when I did not ask for it, you have made the profession of blackmailer an impossible one for a man of sensibility. Good-bye.” V She did not tell Nicholas Pavlovitch of this second encounter. It would, she thought, be only disturbing him for nothing, for she was quite convinced that she had now seen the last of the cavalier of the streets. She couldn’t help having a little private conceit about it. After all, not every woman would have managed that foul man so--certainly not those notoriously managing women who know how to deal with men. “Oh, dear!” she thought, “I am clever, I really am!” Even this man, so brutally undesirous to please, had been charmed back into the loathsome shades whence he had so horridly come--so impressed had he been by her original way of being blackmailed that he had been appalled into respectful invisibility. She had, after all, allowed herself to be blackmailed charmingly, she had been as charming as any woman being blackmailed could possibly be. It was because of such thoughts that, eleven evenings later, she was so particularly angry: for the lamp-light near the pillar-box fell on the figure of the cavalier of the streets, the careless, rakish figure at his disgusting post. By the beating of her heart, she knew him yards and yards away. Still she stood for one long moment, to quiet her heart, and then, intolerantly, she swept on. She was humiliated in a most private conceit. She was angrier than she had ever been in her life. Swiftly she pressed on, to pass him with inexpressible contempt; but the pavement was narrow, and wide the sweep of the bad man’s hat. “Forgive me,” said he. “I had not intended to worry you again, but----” “You do not _worry_ me,” said a lady to an insect. “In that case,” said the cavalier of the streets, “I may spare you my apologies, which, I assure you, are quite dangerously insincere. I had intended not to sin against you again. But, this very afternoon, something has happened, something really rather awkward. I do not often lose money at poker, Mrs. Avalon--in fact, I make a point of not losing money at poker, in so far, of course, as a man of honour may make a point about a hazard. But, whether it was the memory of your beauty, for I may not ever forget it, that came between me and my skill, or whether--Oh, what does it matter why it was, since the fact remains that I have lost money, and must pay what I owe or forfeit my honour....” “Your _honour_!” she gasped. “Oh, _commedia, commedia_!”