Just as he had taken this resolve some one knocked at the sitting-room door, and with the inattention of a man who expects nothing, Topham bade enter.

‘A gen’man asking for Mr. Starkey, sir,’ said the servant.

‘All right.  Send him in.’

And then entered a man whose years seemed to be something short of fifty, a hale, ruddy-cheeked, stoutish man, whose dress and bearing made it probable that he was no Londoner.

‘Mr. Starkey, M.A.?’ he inquired, rather nervously, though his smile and his upright posture did not lack a certain dignity.

‘Quite right,’ murmured Topham, who was authorised to represent his principal to any one coming on business.  ‘Will you take a seat?’

‘You will know my name,’ began the stranger.  ‘Wigmore—­Abraham Wigmore.’

’Very glad to meet you, Mr. Wigmore.  I was on the point of sending your last batch of papers to the post.  You will find, this time, I have been able to praise them unreservedly.’

The listener fairly blushed with delight; then he grasped his short beard with his left hand and laughed silently, showing excellent teeth.

‘Well, Mr. Starkey,’ he replied at length in a moderately subdued voice, ’I did really think I’d managed better than usual.  But there’s much thanks due to you, sir.  You’ve helped me, Mr. Starkey, you really have.  And that’s one reason why, happening to come up to London, I wished to have the pleasure of seeing you; I really did want to thank you, sir.’

CHAPTER III

Topham was closely observing this singular visitor.  He had always taken ‘Abraham Wigmore’ for a youth of nineteen or so, some not over-bright, but plodding and earnest clerk or counter-man in the little Gloucestershire town from which the correspondent wrote; it astonished him to see this mature and most respectable person.  They talked on.  Mr. Wigmore had a slight west-country accent, but otherwise his language differed little from that of the normally educated; in every word he revealed a good and kindly, if simple, nature.  At length a slight embarrassment interfered with the flow of his talk, which, having been solely of tuitional matters, began to take a turn more personal.  Was he taking too much of Mr. Starkey’s time?  Reassured on this point, he begged leave to give some account of himself.

’I dare say, Mr. Starkey, you’re surprised to see how old I am.  It seems strange to you, no doubt, that at my age I should be going to school.’  He grasped his beard and laughed.  ’Well, it is strange, and I’d like to explain it to you.  To begin with, I’ll tell you what my age is; I’m seven-and-forty.  Only that.  But I’m the father of two daughters—­both married.  Yes, I was married young myself, and my good wife died long ago, more’s the pity.’

He paused, looked round the room, stroked his hard-felt hat, Topham murmuring a sympathetic sound.