DAVID HAS ONE VISITOR, AND EXPECTS OTHERS
David had to rise pretty early to admit his charwoman. Behind her, in the outer lobby, he saw the scared face of the hall-porter, who remembered that a certain loud knocking and difficulty of gaining access to that flat on one other occasion had been the prelude to a tragic discovery, though he, not being in the building at the time, had heard of the affair only from his mates.
David smiled reassurance at him, and went back to his bed-room to dress. He placed the portrait and the letter in an inner pocket of his waistcoat provided for paper money, and, the hour being in advance of breakfast-time, went out for a stroll.
Regent's Park was delightful that morning. Not spring, but summer, was in the air. Nature, to compel man to admire her dainty contrivances, was shutting in the vistas. Already trees and hedge-rows flung their leafy screens across the landscape. So David wandered on, promising himself many such mornings with Violet; for it passed his wit to see how Van Hupfeldt could wriggle out of the testimony of his own picture and his own handwriting.
Hence, instead of being earlier he was somewhat later than usual in sitting down to breakfast, and he was a surprised young man when, his charwoman having gone to answer a ring at the door, the announcement came of:
"A lady!" he gasped. "Who is she?" and he hoped wildly that it might be Violet.
"You know her well enough, old boy," came the high-pitched voice of Miss Ermyn L'Estrange, who now appeared in the dining-room, a pink-faced vision in a flower-garden hat and muslins. "Poof!" she cried. "I have not been out for many a day before the streets were aired. Say, young party, that bacon and egg has a more gratifying scent than violets. I have come all the way from Chelsea on one cup of tea."
The charwoman, eying the visitor askance, admitted that more supplies could be arranged.
"Hurry up, then, fairy," said Miss L'Estrange. "And don't look so shocked. Your master here is the very goodest young man in London."
David said that even the just man fell seven times a day; but, anyhow, he was delighted to see her.
"You look it," was the dry response. "I never knew anybody who threw their heart into their eyes as you do. You will never get on in London if you don't learn to lie better. When you say that sort of thing you should gush a little and leer--at any rate, when you are talking to a woman."