provided him with the costume of Piccadilly; from shining hat to
patent-leather shoes, he was immaculate. Seeing that he had to walk more
than a mile, that the month was September, and that he could not pretend to
have come straight from town, this apparel struck me as not a little
inappropriate; I could only suppose that the man had no social tact.

At seven in the evening he again sought me. His urban glories were
exchanged for the ordinary attire, but I at once read in his face that he
had suffered no humiliation.

'Come and dine with me at the inn,' he exclaimed cordially; 'if one may use
such a word as _dine_ under the circumstances.'

'With pleasure.'

'To-morrow I dine with the Armitages.'

He regarded me with an air of infinite satisfaction. Surprised, I held my
peace. 'It was as I foresaw. The old fellow welcomed me with open arms. His
daughters gave me tea. I had really a very pleasant time.'

I mused and wondered.

'You didn't expect it; I can see that.'

'You told me that Mr. Armitage would recognise your name,' I answered
evasively.

'Precisely. Not long ago I gave him, through an agent, a very handsome
price for some pictures he had to sell.'