amiability.     

       Meanwhile the stranger, proceeding upon his way, had rung the bell of Number Forty-eight. Mrs. Pennycherry, peeping from the area and catching a glimpse, above the railings, of a handsome if somewhat effeminate masculine face, hastened to readjust her widow’s cap before the looking-glass while directing Mary Jane to show the stranger, should he prove a problematical boarder, into the dining-room, and to light the gas.     

       “And don’t stop gossiping, and don’t you take it upon yourself to answer questions. Say I’ll be up in a minute,” were Mrs. Pennycherry’s further instructions, “and mind you hide your hands as much as you can.”      

       ***     

       “What are you grinning at?” demanded Mrs. Pennycherry, a couple of minutes later, of the dingy Mary Jane.     

       “Wasn’t grinning,” explained the meek Mary Jane, “was only smiling to myself.”      

       “What at?”      

       “Dunno,” admitted Mary Jane. But still she went on smiling.     

       “What’s he like then?” demanded Mrs. Pennycherry.     

       “‘E ain’t the usual sort,” was Mary Jane’s opinion.     

       “Thank God for that,” ejaculated Mrs. Pennycherry piously.     

       “Says ‘e’s been recommended, by a friend.”      

       “By whom?”      

       “By a friend. ‘E didn’t say no name.” Mrs. Pennycherry pondered. “He’s not the funny sort, is he?”      

       Not that sort at all. Mary Jane was sure of it.     

       Mrs. Pennycherry ascended the stairs still pondering. As she entered the room the stranger rose and bowed. Nothing could have been simpler than the stranger’s bow, yet there came with it to Mrs. Pennycherry a rush of old sensations long forgotten. For one brief moment Mrs. Pennycherry saw herself an amiable well-bred 

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