“Dear me,” said Septimus.  “I remember.  I had shaved myself with a safety razor.  I invented it.”

“I was going to speak to you, but I was prevented.”  He turned to Zora.

“I’ve met you too, on Vesuvius in January.  You were with two elderly ladies.  You were dreadfully sunburnt.  I made their acquaintance next day in Naples.  You had gone, but they told me your name.  Let me see.  I know everybody and never forget anything.  My mind is pigeon-holed like my office.  Don’t tell me.”

He held up his forefinger and fixed her with his eye.

“It’s Middlemist,” he cried triumphantly, “and you’ve an Oriental kind of Christian name—­Zora!  Am I right?”

“Perfectly,” she laughed, the uncanniness of his memory mitigating the unconventionality of his demeanor.

“Now we all know one another,” he said, swinging a chair round and sitting unasked at the table.  “You’re both very sunburnt and the water here is hard and will make the skin peel.  You had better use some of the cure.  I use it myself every day—­see the results.”

He passed his hand over his smooth, clean-shaven face, which indeed was as rosy as a baby’s.  His piercing eyes contrasted oddly with his chubby, full lips and rounded chin.

“What cure?” asked Zora, politely.

“What cure?” he echoed, taken aback, “why, my cure.  What other cure is there?”

He turned to Septimus, who stared at him vacantly.  Then the incredible truth began to dawn on him.

“I am Clem Sypher—­Friend of Humanity—­Sypher’s Cure.  Now do you know?”

“I’m afraid I’m shockingly ignorant,” said Zora.

“So am I,” said Septimus.

“Good heavens!” cried Sypher, bringing both hands down on the table, tragically.  “Don’t you ever read your advertisements?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Zora.

“No,” said Septimus.

Before his look of mingled amazement and reproach they felt like
Sunday-school children taken to task for having skipped the Kings of
Israel.

“Well,” said Sypher, “this is the reward we get for spending millions of pounds and the shrewdest brains in the country for the benefit of the public!  Have you ever considered what anxious thought, what consummate knowledge of human nature, what dearly bought experience go to the making of an advertisement?  You’ll go miles out of your way to see a picture or a piece of sculpture that hasn’t cost a man half the trouble and money to produce, and you’ll not look at an advertisement of a thing vital to your life, though it is put before your eyes a dozen times a day.  Here’s my card, and here are some leaflets for you to read at your leisure.  They will repay perusal.”

He drew an enormous pocketbook from his breast pocket and selected two cards and two pamphlets, which he laid on the table.  Then he arose with an air of suave yet offended dignity.  Zora, seeing that the man, in some strange way, was deeply hurt, looked up at him with a conciliatory smile.