about to turn towards it, an old lady stepped upon the kerbstone of the pavement, looked at me for a moment, and passed—an occurrence not very remarkable, certainly. But the lady was remarkable, and so was her dress. I am not good at observing, and I am still worse at describing dress, therefore I can only say that hers reminded me of an old picture—that is, I had never seen anything like it, except in old pictures. She had no bonnet, and looked as if she had walked straight out of an ancient drawing-room in her evening attire. Of her face I shall say nothing now. The next instant I met a man on the crossing, who stopped and addressed me. So shortsighted was I that, although I recognised his voice as one I ought to know, I could not identify him until I had put on my spectacles, which I did instinctively in the act of returning his greeting. At the same moment I glanced over my shoulder after the old lady. She was nowhere to be seen.
“ ‘What are you looking at?’ asked James Hetheridge.
“ ‘I was looking after that old lady,’ I answered, ‘but I can’t see her.’
“ ‘What old lady?’ said Hetheridge, with just a touch of impatience.
“ ‘You must have seen her,’ I returned. ‘You were not more than three yards behind her.’
“ ‘Where is she then?’
“ ‘She must have gone down one of the areas, I think. But she looked a lady, though an old-fashioned one.’
“ ‘Have you been dining?’ asked James, in a tone of doubtful inquiry.
“ ‘No,’ I replied, not suspecting the insinuation; ‘I have only just come from the Museum.’
“ ‘Then I advise you to call on your medical man before you go home.’