“You’re the gentleman in No. 11, I believe?” she said.

He nodded confusedly.

“Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?” she queried, with a pretty elevation of the eyebrows.

“Yes, ma’am,” said John, rather abjectly.  “You see, ma’am—­But I beg pardon,” he went on stammeringly, and with a very awkward bow—­“I beg pardon, but I am addressing—­ah—­the—­ah—­the—­”

“You are addressing the new landlady,” she interpolated, pleasantly.  “Mrs. Miller is my name.  I think we should be friends, Mr. McKinney, since I hear that you are one of the oldest patrons of the house.”

“Thank you—­thank you!” said John, completely embarrassed.  “Yes, indeed!—­ha, ha.  Oh, yes—­yes—­really, we must be quite old friends, I assure you, Mrs.—­Mrs.—­”

“Mrs. Miller,” smilingly prompted the little woman.

“Yes, ah, yes,—­Mrs. Miller.  Lovely morning, Mrs. Miller,” said John, edging past her and backing toward his room.

But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for some mysterious reason, and gave no affirmation in response to his proposition as to the quality of the weather, John, utterly abashed and nonplussed, darted into his room and closed the door.  “Deucedly extraordinary woman!” he thought; “wonder what’s her idea!”

He remained locked in his room till the dinner-hour; and, when he promptly emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable improvement in his personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, though there still lingered about his smoothly-shaven features a certain haggard, care-worn, anxious look that would not out.

Next his own place at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as though in reservation for some honored guest.  What did it mean?  Oh, he remembered now.  Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend to dine with him.  Bert—­and, blast the fellow! he was, doubtless, dining then with a far preferable companion—­his wife—­in a palace-car on the P., C. & St. L., a hundred miles away.  The thought was maddening.  Of course, now, the landlady would have material for a new assault.  And how could he avert it?  A despairing film blurred his sight for the moment—­then the eyes flashed daringly.  “I will meet it like a man!” he said, mentally—­“like a State’s Attorney,—­I will invite it!  Let her do her worst!”

He called a servant, directing some message in an undertone.

“Yes, sir,” said the agreeable servant, “I’ll go right away, sir,” and left the room.

Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him: 

“Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney?  What is it I can do?”

“You are very kind, Mrs.—­Mrs.—­”

“Mrs. Miller,” said the lady, with a smile that he remembered.

“Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes.  I deserve your censure, but I can’t stand it—­I can’t positively!” and there was a pleading look in John’s lifted eyes that changed the little woman’s smile to an expression of real solicitude.  “I have sent for you,” continued John, “to ask of you three great favors.  Please be seated while I enumerate them.  First—­I want you to forgive and forget that ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you wakened me.”