“Oh, Miss Silver, I am sure you have not the least idea who I am, but we met a few weeks ago at Mrs. Moray’s-Mrs. Charles Moray-dear Margaret-such a charming person-and as I happened to be passing I thought I must come in and see you! Now don’t say you have forgotten our meeting, for I should never have forgotten you!”

Miss Silver smiled and shook hands. She remembered Mrs. Underwood very well, and Charles Moray saying, “Poor old Godfrey Underwood’s fiasco and the most crashing silly bore in the Home Counties. She hangs round Margaret’s neck like the Ancient Mariner and the albatross. No resolution-that’s what’s the matter with Margaret. Does she take the woman out and push her under a tram? No, she asks her to tea, and I shall probably throw the milk-jug at her if it goes on.”

Miss Silver said briskly,

“How do you do, Mrs. Underwood? I remember you very well.”

The lady sat down. There were two rows of pearls upon her bosom. They rose and fell a little more rapidly than was natural. Their owner had presumably come up in the lift, yet from the evidence of the pearls she might very well have taken the three flights of stairs at a run.

Rejecting such an absurd supposition, Miss Silver wondered why Mrs. Underwood should be nervous, and whether her visit was to be regarded as a professional one. She said, breaking in upon some negligible remark about the weather,

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Underwood, but it is always best to come straight to the point. Had you any special reason for wishing to see me, or is this merely a friendly call?”

Mrs. Underwood changed colour. It was not a becoming change. Beneath the powder her skin was suffused with an ugly pinkish mauve. She laughed on rather a high note.

“Oh, but of course-any friend of dear Margaret’s-and I just happened to be passing. Quite a coincidence in its way. There I was, walking down the street, and when I looked up and saw Montague Mansions just across the way I felt I really couldn’t pass you by.”