even looked as if at one time she might have sat for the complexion. She wore a hat with many feathers, a dress with many bugles, long black gloves, encircled with silver bracelets, and very bad shoes. There was something about her that was not exactly of the governess out of place nor completely of the actress seeking an engagement, but that savoured of an interrupted profession or even of a blighted career. She was rather soiled and tarnished, and after she had been in the room a few moments the air, or at any rate the nostril, became acquainted with a certain alcoholic waft. She was unpractised in the h, and when Lyon at last thanked her and said he didn't want her—he was doing nothing for which she could be useful—she replied with rather a wounded manner, 'Well, you know you 'ave 'ad me!'
'I don't remember you,' Lyon answered.
'Well, I daresay the people that saw your pictures do! I haven't much time, but I thought I would look in.'
'I am much obliged to you.'
'If ever you should require me, if you just send me a postcard———'
'I never send postcards,' said Lyon.
'Oh well, I should value a private letter! Anything to Miss Geraldine, Mortimer Terrace Mews, Notting 'ill———'
'Very good; I'll remember,' said Lyon.
Miss Geraldine lingered. 'I thought I'd just stop, on the chance.'
'I'm afraid I can't hold out hopes, I'm so busy with portraits,' Lyon continued.
'Yes; I see you are. I wish I was in the gentleman's place.'
