The servant retired, and soon re-appeared, ushering in a tall, gaunt, black-robed female, who walked with the stride of a dragoon and the demeanor of a police-inspector, and who, merely nodding briskly in response to Villiers’s amazed bow, selected with one comprehensive glance the most comfortable chair in the room, and seated herself at ease therein.  She then put up her veil, displaying a long, narrow face, cold, pale, arrogant eyes, a nose inclined to redness at the tip, and a thin, close-set mouth lined with little sarcastic wrinkles, which came into prominent and unbecoming play as soon as she began to speak, which she did almost immediately.

“I suppose I had better introduce myself to you, Mr. Alwyn”—­she said with a condescending and confident air—­“Though really we know each other so well by reputation that there seems scarcely any necessity for it!  Of course you have heard of ‘Tiger-Lily!’”

Villiers gazed at her helplessly,—­he had never felt so uncomfortable in all his life.  Here was a strange woman, who had actually taken bodily possession of his apartment as though it were her own,—­who had settled herself down in his particular pet Louis Quatorze chair,—­who stared at him with the scrutinizing complacency of a professional physiognomist,—­and who seemed to think no explanation of her extraordinary conduct was necessary, inasmuch as “of course” he, Villiers, had heard of “Tiger-lily!” It was very singular! ... almost like madness! ...  Perhaps she was mad!  How could he tell?  She had a remarkably high, knobby brow,—­a brow with an unpleasantly bald appearance, owing to the uncompromising way in which her hair was brushed well off it—­he had seen such brows before in certain “spiritualists” who believed, or pretended to believe, in the suddenly willed dematerialization of matter, and they were mad, he knew, or else very foolishly feigning madness!

Endeavoring to compose his bewildered mind, he fixed glass in eye, and regarded her through it with an inquiring solemnity,—­he would have spoken, but before he could utter a word, she went on rapidly: 

“You are not in the least like the person I imagined you to be! ...  However, that doesn’t matter.  Literary celebrities are always so different to what we expect!”

“Pardon me, madam,”—­began Villiers politely..  “You are making a slight error,—­my servant probably did not explain.  I am not Mr. Alwyn, . . my name is Villiers.  Mr. Alwyn is my guest,—­but he is at present very much occupied,—­and unless your business is extremely urgent...”

“Certainly it is urgent”—­said the lady decisively.. “otherwise I should not have come.  And so you are not Mr. Alwyn!  Well, I thought you couldn’t be!  Now then, will you have the kindness to tell Mr. Alwyn I am here?”

By this time Villiers had recovered his customary self-possession, and he met her commanding glance with a somewhat defiant coolness.