“Oh, I’m an old woman now,” replied Aunt Charlotte with an almost youthful blush.  “But I’ve had a peaceful life if rather a monotonous one, and I’ve nothing to complain of.  It is very good of you to have remembered me, and I’m more glad than I can say to see you again.  It’s a quarter of a century since we met!”

“It seems like yesterday,” Mr Ogilvie assured her.  “And yet how many things have happened in the meantime!  This charming house of yours is a perfect haven of rest.  Why do people knock about the world as they do, when they might stay quietly at home?”

“Nay, it is rather I who should ask you that,” laughed Aunt Charlotte.  “It is you who have been knocking about, you know, not I. Men are so fond of adventures, while we women have to content ourselves with a very humdrum sort of life.  You’ve been a great traveller, have you not?”

This was a mild attempt at pumping on the part of Aunt Charlotte, for Mr Ogilvie certainly did not give one the idea of an explorer.  But she was consumed with curiosity to knew where he had spent the years since she had seen him last, and now brought all her artless ingenuity into play in order to find out.

“Yes, I was always a roving, restless sort of fellow,” said Mr Ogilvie.  “Never could stay long in the same place, you know.  I often wonder how long it will be before I settle down for good.”

“Well, I almost envy you,” confessed Aunt Charlotte, nibbling a cheese-cake.  “I love travels and adventures; in books, of course, I mean.  I’ve been reading Captain Burnaby’s ‘Ride to Khiva’ lately, and that wonderful ‘Life of Sir Richard Burton.’  What marvellous nerve such men must have!  To think of the disguises, for instance, they were forced to adopt, when detection would have cost them their lives!  You should write your travels too, you know; I’m sure they’d be most exciting.  Were you ever compelled to disguise yourself when you were travelling?”

“I should rather think so,” replied Mr Ogilvie, nodding his head impressively.  “And that, my dear lady, under circumstances in which disguise was absolutely imperative.  The most serious results would have followed if I hadn’t done so; not death, perhaps, but utter and irretrievable ruin.  However, here I am, you see, safe and sound, and none the worse for it after all.  What delicious cream-tarts these are, to be sure!  They remind one of the Arabian Nights.  In Persia, by the way, they put pepper in them.”

“Oh dear!  I don’t think I should like that at all,” exclaimed Aunt Charlotte, naively.  “And have you really been in Persia?  You must have enjoyed that very much.  I suppose you saw some magnificent scenery in your wanderings?”

“Oh, magnificent, magnificent,” assented the great traveller.  “Mountains, forests, castles, glaciers, and everything you can think of.  But I’ve never got quite as far as Persia, you understand, and just at present I feel more interested in England.  I sometimes think that I shall never leave English shores again.”