My man brought me a
typewritten sheet of paper on which were inscribed the words:--

'Sophia Brooks, Typewriting and Translating Office, First Floor, No. 51
Beaumont Street, Strand, London, W.C.'

I said to my servant,--

'Tell the lady as kindly as possible that I have no typewriting work
to give out, and that, in fact, I keep a stenographer and typewriting
machine on the premises.'

A few moments later my man returned, and said the lady wished to see
me, not about typewriting, but regarding a case in which she hoped to
interest me. I was still in some hesitation about admitting her, for
my transactions had now risen to a higher plane than when I was new to
London. My expenses were naturally very heavy, and it was not possible
for me, in justice to myself, to waste time in commissions from the
poor, which even if they resulted successfully meant little money
added to my banking account, and often nothing at all, because the
client was unable to pay. As I remarked before, I possess a heart the
most tender, and therefore must greatly to my grief, steel myself
against the enlisting of my sympathy, which, alas! has frequently led
to my financial loss. Still, sometimes the apparently poor are
involved in matters of extreme importance, and England is so eccentric
a country that one may find himself at fault if he closes his door too
harshly. Indeed, ever since my servant, in the utmost good faith,
threw downstairs the persistent and tattered beggar-man, who he
learned later to his sorrow was actually his Grace the Duke of
Ventnor, I have always cautioned my subordinates not to judge too
hastily from appearances.

'Show the lady in,' I said, and there came to me, hesitating,
backward, abashed, a middle-aged woman, dressed with distressing
plainness, when one thinks of the charming costumes to be seen on a
Parisian boulevard. Her subdued manner was that of one to whom the
world had been cruel. I rose, bowed profoundly, and placed a chair at
her disposal, with the air I should have used if my caller had been a
Royal Princess. I claim no credit for this; it is of my nature. There
you behold Eugene Valmont. My visitor was a woman. _Voila!_

'Madam,' I said politely, 'in what may I have the pleasure of serving
you?'

The poor woman seemed for the moment confused, and was, I feared, on
the verge of tears, but at last she spoke, and said,--

'Perhaps you have read in the newspapers of the tragedy at Rantremly
Castle?'