“It really is rather nice out here,” Cynthia admitted.

“I come almost every afternoon.  Oh, I’ve plenty of time!  My round in the morning generally sees me through—­except for emergencies, births and deaths, and so on.  You see, my predecessor, poor Christian Evans, never had more than the leavings, and that’s all I’ve got.  I believe the real doctor, the old-established one, Dr. Irechester, was angry at first with Dr. Evans for coming; he didn’t want a rival.  But Christian was such a meek, mild, simple little Welshman, not the least pushing or ambitious; and very soon Dr. Irechester, who’s quite well off, was glad to leave him the dirty work, I mean (she explained, smiling) the cottages, and the panel work, National Insurance, you know, and so on.  Well, as you know, I came down as locum for Christian, he was a fellow-student of mine, and when the dear little man was killed in France, Dr. Irechester himself suggested that I should stay on.  He was rather nice.  He said, ’We all started to laugh at you, at first, but we don’t laugh now, anyhow, only my wife does!  So, if you stay on, I don’t doubt we shall work very well together, my dear colleague,’ Wasn’t that rather nice of him, Cynthia?”

“Yes, dear,” said Cynthia, in a voice that sounded a good many miles away.

Mary laughed.  “I’m bound to be interested in you, but I suppose you’re not bound to be interested in me,” she observed resignedly.  “All the same, I made a sensation at Inkston just at first.  And they were even more astonished when it turned out that I could dance and play lawn tennis.”

“That’s a funny little place,” said Cynthia, pointing to the left side of the road.

“Tower Cottage, that’s called.”

“But what a funny place!” Cynthia insisted.  “A round tower, like a Martello tower, only smaller, of course; and what looks just like an ordinary cottage or small farm-house joined on to it.  What could the tower have been for?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.  Origin lost in the mists of antiquity!  An old gentleman named Saffron lives there now.”

“A patient of yours, Mary?”

“Oh, no!  He’s well off, rich, I believe.  So he belongs to Dr. Irechester.  But I often meet him along the road.  Lately there’s always been a younger man with him, a companion, or secretary, or something of that sort, I hear he is.”

“There are two men coming along the road now.”

“Yes, that’s them, the old man, and his friend.  He’s rather striking to look at.”

“Which of them?”

“The old man, of course.  I haven’t looked at the secretary.  Cynthia, I believe you’re beginning to feel a little better!”

“Oh, no, I’m not!  I’m afraid I’m not, really!” But there had been a cheerfully roguish little smile on her face.  It vanished very promptly when observed.