imagined. She was a small, frail creature, well over
forty, I should say, with a pale, peaky face, and hair
of a very light shade of chestnut. Her presence was
insignificant and her manner retiring. In any group of
ten women she would have been the last whom one would
have picked out. Her eyes were perhaps her most
remarkable, and also, I am compelled to say, her least
pleasant, feature. They were gray in color,--gray with
a shade of green,--and their expression struck me as
being decidedly furtive. I wonder if furtive is the
word, or should I have said fierce? On second
thoughts, feline would have expressed it better. A
crutch leaning against the wall told me what was
painfully evident when she rose: that one of her legs
was crippled.

So I was introduced to Miss Penclosa, and it did not
escape me that as my name was mentioned she glanced
across at Agatha. Wilson had evidently been talking.
And presently, no doubt, thought I, she will inform me
by occult means that I am engaged to a young lady with
wheat-ears in her hair. I wondered how much more
Wilson had been telling her about me.

"Professor Gilroy is a terrible sceptic," said he; "I
hope, Miss Penclosa, that you will be able to convert
him."

She looked keenly up at me.