Trist's readiness to depart at any moment was a literal fact, although he tried to disguise it. He rather prided himself upon the home-like appearance of his tobacco-scented sitting-room; but the habit of being always ready, of knowing exactly where everything was to be found, and putting all things in their right places, was so strong in him that a sailor-like neatness was his only conception of human comfort.

Instead, therefore, of adorning his apartment with flowers and ornaments in anticipation of Mrs. Wylie's visit, he committed the Philistine error of looking round to see that nothing was lying about without visible and obvious excuse. The task of making tidy was not a long one. Before going out to dine at a small and self-abnegating club he had dressed so that he might be ready for the widow's visit. There had also been a long and serious consultation with the landlady about tea at eight-thirty; and this feast had been royally prepared, regardless of expense in the luxurious matter of cream from the dairy round the corner.

There was a gravity almost amounting to solemnity in the war-correspondent's demeanour as he sat awaiting his gracious visitor.

'I am afraid,' he reflected, with characteristic calmness, 'that the good lady is not pleased with me.'

This fear no doubt interfered to some extent with his enjoyment of a French newspaper, which he had just freed from its small coloured wrapper. He did not appear to be deeply interested in the Echos de Paris, of which the wit failed to call a smile into his solemn eyes. It is, in fact, a matter of conjecture to me whether he had read anything at all (with understanding) when the rarely-used front-door bell tinkled dimly in the beetle-haunted basement. Trist laid aside the newspaper, and opened the door of his room just as the stairs began to creak under the comfortable step of Mrs. Wylie.

'Well, Theo,' said the good lady cheerily. 'Good-evening!'

Trist shook hands very gravely. He was at the moment deeply immersed in doubts as to whether his visitor should be shown to his bedroom with a view of removing her bonnet before his shaving-glass, or whether she would prefer keeping her out-door apparel with her. As might have been expected, Mrs. Wylie was equal to the occasion, and settled the question at once.

'I will just open my sealskin,' she said, suiting the action to the word. 'It is bitterly cold outside. What a nice fire, but ... what a bare room, Theo! Have you no sense of comfort?'

'Bare!' replied Trist, looking round in amazement; 'I never noticed it.'

'Naturally you would not. As long as it looks like a barrack-room, and the furniture suggests the luxuries of camp-life, you are happy, I suppose?'