"Are you a widow just now?" I asked her, after we had shaken hands.
"Yes," she said. "But my husband touched at Port Said yesterday, thank Heaven."
"Are you ordering clothes for him to wear on his arrival?" I adopted a teasing tone.
"Can you picture Henry in a Sackville Street suit?" she laughed.
I could not. Henry's clothes usually had the appearance of having been picked up at a Jew's.
"Then what are you doing here?" I insisted.
"I came here because I remembered you saying once that this was your tailor's," she said, "so I thought it would be a pretty good place."
Now I would not class my tailor with the half-dozen great tailors of the world, but all the same he is indeed a, pretty good tailor.
"That's immensely flattering," I said. "But what have you been doing with him?"
"Business," said she. "And if you want to satisfy your extraordinary inquisitiveness any further, don't you think you'd better come right away now and offer me some tea somewhere?"