It was the face of an old lady of perhaps seventy, hale and healthful, with fresh colour on the cheeks, and bands of perfectly white hair falling over the ears. But it was the expression which attracted me; it was peculiarly sweet and winning.
My halt could only have been momentary. I recollected myself and was passing on, when she spoke to me.
"Would you be so kind as to do me a favour, sir?" she asked.
The voice was as sweet and winning as her expression; though she spoke perfect English, yet there was the very slightest soupçon of a foreign accent. Of what country, I could not tell.
I stopped again as she spoke, and having perhaps among my friends a little reputation for politeness to the weaker sex, especially the older members of it—for I am not by way of being a Lothario, be it said—I answered her as politely as I could.
"In what way may I be of service to you?"
She brought her walking stick round in front of her and leant upon it with both hands as she made her request. She then appeared, in the fuller light of the yellow-flamed old-fashioned gas lamp opposite, to be much older than I first thought.
"I want you, if you will," she said, "to come into this house for a few minutes. I wish to ask a further favour of you which I shall then have an opportunity of explaining, but, on the other hand, the service I shall ask will not go unrewarded."
Prepossessing though her appearance and address were, yet I hesitated.
I took another long look at her open face, white hair, and very correct old lady's black hat secured by a veil tied under her chin. It was just such a hat as my own dear mother used to wear.