“Irechester’s a sound man, a very sound man,” said Mr. Naylor.  “And, after all one can ask almost any question if one does it tactfully, can’t one, Miss Wall?”

“As a matter of fact, he’s only seen Mr. Saffron twice—­he had a little chill.  But his manner, unfortunately, rather, er—­alarmed—­”

Gertie Naylor, with the directness of youth, propounded a solution of the difficulty.  “If you don’t like Dr. Irechester—­”

“Oh, it’s not I who—­”

“Why not have Mary?” Gertie made her suggestion eagerly.  She was very fond of Mary, who, from the height of age, wisdom and professional dignity, had stooped to offer her an equal friendship.

“She means Dr. Mary Arkroyd,” Mrs. Naylor explained.

“Yes, I know, Mrs. Naylor, I know about Dr. Arkroyd.  In fact, I know her by sight.  But—­”

“Perhaps you don’t believe in women doctors?” Alec suggested.

“It’s not that.  I’ve no prejudices.  But the responsibility is on me, and I know very little of her; and, well to change one’s doctor, it’s rather invidious—­”

“Oh, as to that, Irechester’s a sensible man; he’s got as much work as he wants, and as much money too.  He won’t resent an old man’s fancy.”

“Well, I’d never thought of a change, but if you all suggest it—­” Somehow it did seem as if they all, and not merely youthful Gertie had suggested it.  “But I should rather like to know Dr. Arkroyd first.”

“Come and meet her here; that’s very simple.  She often comes to tennis and tea.  We’ll let you know the first time she’s coming.”

Beaumaroy most cordially accepted the idea and the invitation.  “Any afternoon I shall be delighted, except Wednesdays.  Wednesdays are sacred, aren’t they, Miss Wall?  London on Wednesdays for Mr. Saffron and me, and the old brown bag!” He laughed in a quiet merriment.  “That old bag’s been in a lot of places with me and has carried some queer cargoes.  Now it just goes to and fro, between here and town, with Mudie books.  Must have books, living so much alone as we do!” He had risen as he spoke, and approached Mrs. Naylor to take leave.

She gave him her hand very cordially.  “I don’t suppose Mr. Saffron cares to meet people; but any spare time you have, Mr. Beaumaroy, we shall be delighted to see you.”

Beaumaroy bowed as he thanked her, adding, “And I’m promised a chance of meeting Dr. Arkroyd before long?”

The promise was renewed and the visitor took his leave, declining Alec’s offer to “run him home” in the car.  “The car might startle my old friend,” he pleaded.  Alec saw him off, and returned to find the General, who had contrived to avoid more than a distant bow of farewell to Beaumaroy, standing on the hearthrug apparently in a state of some agitation.