past. Glad to meet you, hope we shall be friends, too."

Leonie, who had gained the door, looked back over her aunt's shoulder
and spoke with a gentle courtesy very much her own.

"I always like to meet Auntie's friends!"

Not knowing the man from Adam she spoke no untruth, but in spite of
reiterated calls to come down to tea she remained in her bedroom until
the loud-voiced guest had taken his departure.

While the two women were having yet another cup of tea Sir Walter
Hickle, millionaire, tradesman, and knight, sat down gingerly upon a
rock and made his plans.

He had made his plans as a bull-necked, offensive youth the first day
he had pulled out from Covent Garden with a barrow piled with walnuts
bought out of two rustlers, value of ten pun each.

"I'll _get there_!" he had informed the nuts as he tweaked his cap over
one eye, and his red neckerchief into place; and had sworn a mighty and
quite unprintable oath as he struck a huge fist into a horny palm at
the corner of Ludgate Circus and New Bridge Street.

"I'll _get there_!" he informed the seaweed as he lifted the soft grey
hat from his bald head and adjusted the enormous pearl pin in the pale
pink satin tie; and he sighed stertorously as he complacently patted
his knee with a podgy hand, upon the manicured plebeian fingers of
which shone two magnificent diamond rings.