But he was no stranger to the men surrounding Dicky.  Most of them greeted him warmly.  Of course, I was too far away to hear what was said, but I saw the pantomime in which he requested an introduction to Dicky of one of his friends!

Then I saw the stranger meet Dicky and engage him in earnest conversation.  I did not dare to look at my mother-in-law.  I knew she was gazing in open-mouthed wonder at her son, but I hoped she did not know the queer mixture of terror and interest with which I watched the picture at the other table.

For it was no surprise to me when, a few minutes later, Dicky came back toward our table.  With him, talking earnestly, as if he had been a childhood friend, walked the mysterious stranger.  I told myself that I had known it would be so from the first.

From the moment I had first seen this man’s haunting eyes gazing at me in the reception room of the Sydenham I had felt that a meeting with him was inevitable.  How or where he would touch my life I did not know, but that he was destined to wield some influence, sinister or favorable, over me, I was sure, and I trembled with vague terror as I saw him drawing near.

“Mother, may I present Mr. Gordon?  My wife, Mr. Gordon.”

Dicky’s manner was nervous, preoccupied, as he spoke.  His mother’s face showed very plainly her resentment at being obliged to meet the man upon whose steady staring at me she had so acidly commented a few minutes before.

For my own part, I was so upset that I felt actually ill, as the eyes of the persistent stranger met mine.  How had this man, who had so terrified me by his persistent pursuit and scrutiny, managed to obtain an introduction to Dicky?

Dicky made a place for the man near me, and signalled the waiter.

“I know you have dined,” he said, courteously, “but you’ll at least have coffee and a cordial with us, will you not?”

“Thank you,” Mr. Gordon said, in a deep, rich voice, “I have not yet had coffee.  If you will be so kind, I should like a little apricot brandy instead of a cordial.”

Dicky gave the necessary order to the waiter, and we all sat back in our chairs.

I, for one, felt as though I were a spectator at a play, waiting for the curtain to run up upon some thrilling episode.  For the few minutes while we waited for our coffee, Dicky had to carry the burden of the conversation.  His mother, with her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, evidently had resolved to take no part in any conversation with the stranger.  I was really too terrified to say anything, and, besides the briefest of assents to Dicky’s observations, the stranger said nothing.

There was something about the man’s whole personality that both attracted and repelled me.  With one breath I felt that I had a curious sense of liking and admiration for him, and was proud of the interest in me, which he had taken no pains to conceal.  The next moment a real terror and dislike of him swept over me.