A rush of blind, unreasoning rage was shaking Varick.  Curse the woman!  What a brute she must be, to take his money, and go on annoying him in this way.  “I wish you’d written and told me about it when it happened,” he said sombrely.

The doctor looked at him, distressed.  “I’m sorry I didn’t, if you feel like that about it!” he exclaimed.  “But you were so put out when I told you of the woman’s having come to see me, and it was so obvious that the advertisement came from her, that I thought I’d say nothing about it.  I wouldn’t have told you now, only that you mentioned her.”

Varick saw that his friend was very much disturbed.  He made a determined effort over himself.  “Never mind,” he said, trying to smile.  “After all, it’s of no real consequence.”

“I don’t know if you’ll find it any consolation to be told that that sort of thing is by no means uncommon,” said Panton reflectively.  “People, especially women, whose minds for any reason have become just a little unhinged, often take that sort of strange dislike to another human being.  Sometimes for no reason at all.  Every medical man would tell you of half-a-dozen such cases within his own knowledge.  Fortunately, such half-insane people generally choose a noted man—­the Prime Minister, for instance, or whoever happens to be very much in the public eye.  If the persecution becomes quite intolerable there’s a police-court case—­or the individual is quite properly certified as insane.”

And then something peculiar and untoward happened to Lionel Varick.  The words rose to his lips:  “That horrible woman haunts me—­haunts me!  I can never get rid of her—­she seems always there—­”

Had he uttered those words aloud, or had he not?  He glanced sharply round, and then, with relief, he made up his mind that he had not uttered them, for the man sitting by his side was looking straight before him, with a pleased, interested expression on his plain, intelligent face.

Varick pulled himself together.  This would never do!  He asked himself, with a touch of acute anxiety, whether it were possible that he was losing his nerve?  He had always possessed the valuable human gift of being able to control, absolutely, his secret feelings and his emotions.

“Did I tell you that Miss Brabazon is here?” he asked carelessly.

And the other exclaimed:  “I’m glad of that.  I formed a tremendously high opinion of that girl last year.  By the way, I was surprised to hear, quite by accident, the other day, that she’s a lot of money.  I don’t quite know why, but I formed the impression that it was her friend who was well-to-do—­didn’t you?”

“I never thought about it,” said Varick indifferently.  “By the way, Miss Brabazon’s old aunt, a certain Miss Burnaby, is here too.  It’s rather a quiet party, Panton; I hope you won’t be bored.”

“I’m never bored.  Who else have you got staying with you?”