I decided I had better begin operations with a new suit.  This would involve changing my regular tailor.  The one who has had my custom for the last quarter of a century is used to my way of putting my head round his door once in three years and commanding, ’A tweed lounge suit, the same as the last.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he invariably concurs, ’any difference in measurements, sir?’

‘I think not,’ I reply, ’but make it quite loose and comfortable in case I’ve added a few inches to the waist.’

That is all.  Occasionally, of course, I vary the order by making it an overcoat, or an extra pair of slacks (when I burn holes in my usual ones, which frequently happens), but the procedure is always the same.  It can easily be understood that I had not the courage to confront him after all these years with a demand for the latest thing in the season’s suitings, and especial injunctions regarding style and cut.

As I was dwelling on the annoyances and difficulties that were already presenting themselves, Miss Warrington came in.  I must confess that, as I looked at the irritating female whose misplaced affections were already harassing me, I felt slightly confused.  Since I had first learned of her insane infatuation I had studiously avoided being left alone with her for one instant.  At the moment, however, there was no possibility of escape, as she stood between me and the door, thus effectively barring my exit.  I could only confront her uneasily, trying to avoid her direct gaze and, as I did so, I could not help remarking that she, too, was obviously embarrassed.

Then, as if taking a resolution, she came up to me and looked me squarely in the face.  I moved away, a faint shiver of apprehension going down my spine.

‘Mr. Rawlings,’ she said slowly and impressively, ’there is one thing I want to say regarding your conduct.  When you are addressing photographs, may I ask you to do it with lowered voice, or at all events in a purely conversational tone?’ Then she swept out of the room, banging the door behind her.

As for me, I was left dazed and struggling to grasp the strange import of her mystic words.  Why this constant reference to the photograph she had so shamelessly thrust upon me, and which, as a direct hint to her that I did not desire it, I had replaced in its frame at the first opportunity?

What had come over the woman?  I began to be more than ever convinced of my former suspicion that her fatal and erratic passion for myself was beginning to unhinge her mind.  I saw that I must lose no time in bringing about her disillusionment.

CHAPTER XIII

’Henry, do you think William has been looking particularly unhappy lately?’ I inquired.

Henry grunted.  Converted for the moment into ‘A Well-known Actor,’ he was digging amongst his theatrical cuttings for reminiscent purposes, and was, therefore, somewhat abstracted.