If Maud had waited another twenty-four hours there would have been no
need for her to have taxed her powers of invention, for on the
following day there entered the shop and her life a young man who was
not imaginary--a Lothario of flesh and blood. He made his entry with
that air of having bought most of the neighbouring property which
belongs exclusively to minor actors, men of weight on the Stock
Exchange, and American professional pugilists.

Mr 'Skipper' Shute belonged to the last-named of the three classes. He
had arrived in England two months previously for the purpose of holding
a conference at eight-stone four with one Joseph Edwardes, to settle a
question of superiority at that weight which had been vexing the
sporting public of two countries for over a year. Having successfully
out-argued Mr Edwardes, mainly by means of strenuous work in the
clinches, he was now on the eve of starting on a lucrative music-hall
tour with his celebrated inaudible monologue. As a result of these
things he was feeling very, very pleased with the world in general, and
with Mr Skipper Shute in particular. And when Mr Shute was pleased with
himself his manner was apt to be of the breeziest.

He breezed into the shop, took a seat, and, having cast an experienced
eye at Maud, and found her pleasing, extended both hands, and observed,
'Go the limit, kid.'

At any other time Maud might have resented being addressed as 'kid' by
a customer, but now she welcomed it. With the exception of a slight
thickening of the lobe of one ear, Mr Shute bore no outward signs of
his profession. And being, to use his own phrase, a 'swell dresser', he
was really a most presentable young man. Just, in fact, what Maud
needed. She saw in him her last hope. If any faint spark of his ancient