his liberty to secure a competence, and, having acquired five hundred a year, was not inclined for a second matrimonial venture.  Had the widow been a dollar heiress with a million at her back he would not have troubled to place a ring on her finger.  And certainly Mrs. Jasher had little to gain from such a dreary marriage, beyond a collection of rubbish—­as she said—­and a dull country house situated in a district inhabited solely by peasants belonging to Saxon times.

Archie Hope left Lucy at the door of the Pyramids and repaired to his village lodgings, for the purpose of assuming evening dress.  Lucy, being her own housekeeper, assisted the overworked parlor maid to lay and decorate the table before receiving the guests.  Thus Mrs. Jasher found no one in the drawing-room to welcome her, and, taking the privilege of old friendship, descended to beard Braddock in his den.  The Professor raised his eyes from a newly bought scarabeus to behold a stout little lady smiling on him from the doorway.  He did not appear to be grateful for the interruption, but Mrs. Jasher was not at all dismayed, being a man-hunter by profession.  Besides, she saw that Braddock was in the clouds as usual, and would have received the King himself in the same absent-minded manner.

“Pouf! what an abominal smell!” exclaimed the widow, holding a flimsy lace handkerchief to her nose.  “Kind of camphor-sandal-wood-charnel-house smell.  I wonder you are not asphyxiated.  Pouf!  Ugh!  Bur-r-r!”

The Professor stared at her with cold, fishy eyes.  “Did you speak?”

“Oh, dear me, yes, and you don’t even ask me to take a chair.  If I were a nasty stuffy mummy, now, you would be embracing me by, this time.  Don’t you know that I have come to dinner, you silly man?” and she tapped him playfully with her closed fan.

“I have had dinner,” said Braddock, egotistic as usual.

“No, you have not.”  Mrs. Jasher spoke positively, and pointed to a small tray of untouched food on the side table.  “You have not even had luncheon.  You must live on air, like a chameleon—­or on love, perhaps,” she ended in a significantly tender tone.

But she might as well have spoken to the granite image of Horus in the corner.  Braddock merely rubbed his chin and stared harder than ever at the glittering visitor.

“Dear me!” he said innocently.  “I must have forgotten to eat.  Lamplight!” he looked round vaguely.  “Of course, I remember lighting the lamps.  Time has gone by very rapidly.  I am really hungry.”  He paused to make sure, then repeated his remark in a more positive manner.  “Yes, I am very hungry, Mrs. Jasher.”  He looked at her as though she had just entered.  “Of course, Mrs. Jasher.  Do you wish to see me about anything particular?”

The widow frowned at his inattention, and then laughed.  It was impossible to be angry with this dreamer.

“I have come to dinner, Professor.  Do try and wake up; you are half asleep and half starved, too, I expect.”