“I am not aware to whom I have the honor of speaking,” he said frigidly.  “Perhaps you will oblige me with your name?”

“My name doesn’t in the least matter,” she replied calmly—­“though I will tell you afterward if you wish.  But you don’t seem to understand I..._I_ am ’Tiger-Lily’!”

The situation was becoming ludicrous.  Villiers felt strongly disposed to laugh.

“I’m afraid I am very ignorant!”—­he said, with a humorous sparkle in his blue eyes,—­“But really I am quite in the dark as to your meaning.  Will you explain?”

The lady’s nose grew deeper of tint, and the look she shot at him had quite a killing vindictiveness.  With evident difficulty she forced a smile.

“Oh, you must have heard of me!”—­she declared, with a ponderous attempt at playfulness—­“You read the papers, don’t you?”

“Some of them,” returned Villiers cautiously—­“Not all.  Not the Sunday ones, for instance.”

“Still, you can’t possibly have helped seeing my descriptions of famous people ‘At Home,’ you know!  I write for ever so many journals.  I think”—­and she became complacently reflective—­“I think I may say with perfect truth that I have interviewed everybody who has ever done anything worth noting, from our biggest provision dealer to our latest sensational novelist!  And all my articles are signed ‘Tiger-Lily.’  Now do you remember?  Oh, you must remember? ...  I am so very well known!”

There was a touch of genuine anxiety in her voice that was almost pathetic, but Villiers made no attempt to soothe her wounded vanity.

“I have no recollection whatever of the name,” he said bluntly—­ “But that is easily accounted for, as I never read newspaper descriptions of celebrities.  So you are an ‘interviewer’ for the Press?”

“Exactly!” and the lady leaned back more comfortably in the Louis Quatorze fauteuil—­“And of course I want to interview Mr. Alwyn.  I want...” here drawing out a business looking note-book from her pocket she opened it and glanced at the different headings therein enumerated,—­“I want to describe his personal appearance,—­to know when he was born, and where he was educated,—­whether his father or mother had literary tastes,—­whether he had, or has, brothers or sisters, or both,—­whether he is married, or likely to be, and how much money he has made by his book.”  She paused and gave an upward glance at Villiers, who returned it with a blank and stony stare.

“Then,”—­she resumed energetically—­“I wish to know what are his methods of work;—­where he gets his ideas and how he elaborates them,—­how many hours he writes at a time, and whether he is an early riser,—­also what he usually takes for dinner,—­whether he drinks wine or is a total abstainer, and at what hour he retires to rest.  All this is so intensely interesting to the public!  Perhaps he might be inclined to give me a few notes of his recent tour in the East,