The evening came, and Mr. Montgomery called before Andrew had arrived.  Miriam was, nevertheless, ready.  She asked him if he would like anything; could she get him any tea?  But he had prepared himself for his night’s work by a drop of whisky, and did not care for tea.  He did not, however, suggest any more whisky; he was always indeed particularly careful not to overstep the mark before his performances, whatever he might do afterwards.

“Really, Mr. Montgomery, this is too kind of you to take the trouble to come here out of your way for Andrew and myself.”

“It is not out of my way, Miss Tacchi, and I do not believe that you can honestly say that I, who have been idling about for three or four hours, could find it a trouble to be here.”

“Do you think I deal in hypocritical compliments?”

“Of course not; but we are all of us liars a little bit—­women more than men; and perhaps they are never so delightful as when they are telling their little bits of falsehoods.  They speak the truth, but they do lie—­truth and lie, lie and truth—­the truest truth, the most lying lie;” and Mr. Montgomery took up a couple of wax ornamental apples which were on the mantelpiece and tossed them up alternately with one hand with the greatest dexterity, replacing them on the mantelpiece with a smile.

At that moment Andrew appeared at the door, and in a few moments they were all three ready.  Just as they were departing, a gentleman came downstairs.

“Pardon me,” he said, speaking to Miriam, “do you live in this house?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Tippit is very dangerously ill.  I am her doctor.  I do not like to leave her alone with the little girl.  I am going to fetch a nurse, and will probably be able to get one in an hour.  Do you mind waiting till I return?”

Miriam was almost beside herself.  She was not simply vexed, but she cursed Miss Tippit, and would have raged at her if the presence of others had not restrained her.

“It is extremely awkward.  I have a most pressing engagement.”

Andrew stared.  He did not see anything particularly pressing.

“I will wait for you, Miriam.”

She now hated Andrew as much as she did Miss Tippit.

“Absurd to talk of waiting.  You know nothing about it.  Go on.  Don’t stay for me.  Of course I must give it up altogether;” and she clutched at her bonnet-strings, and tore her bonnet off her head.  The doctor was amazed, and doubted for a moment whether it would not be better to do without her help.

“It doesn’t matter, Miss Tacchi,” said Mr. Montgomery; “I shall not be on for an hour and a half, but I must be there.  If you will come with your brother, you will be in plenty of time.”

She sullenly went upstairs, and Andrew remained below.  When she entered the room she shut the door with some vehemence, and the little maid-of-all-work, who was at the head of the bed, came to meet her.