‘And they became engaged on so short an acquaintance?’

’Not exactly that.  She was not engaged when she came home, and did not seem to mean to be.  She did talk of him a lot.  He had got round her finely:  told her that he was going out to the war, and that they were sister spirits.  He had dreamed of meeting her, he said, and that was why he came to the ball, for he did not dance.  He said he believed they had met in a state of pre—­something; meaning, if you understand me, before they were born, which could not be the case:  she not being a twin, still less his twin.’

‘That would be the only way of accounting for it, certainly,’ said Merton.  ‘But what followed?  Did they correspond?’

’He wrote to her, but she showed me the letter, and put it in the fire unopened.  He had written his name, Marmaduke Ingles, on a corner of the envelope.’

‘So far her conduct seems correct, even austere,’ said Merton.

’It was at first, but then he wrote from South Africa, where he volunteered as a doctor.  He was a doctor at Tutbury.’

‘She opened that letter?’

’Yes, and showed it to me.  He kept on with his nonsense, asking her never to forget him, and sending his photograph in cocky.’

‘Pardon!’ said Merton.

’In uniform.  And if he fell, she would see his ghost, in cocky, crossing her room, he said.  In fact he knew how to get round the foolish girl.  I believe he went out there just to make himself interesting.’

‘Did you try to find out what sort of character he had at home?’

’Yes, there was no harm in it, only he had no business to speak of, everybody goes to Dr. Younghusband.’

’Then, really, if he is an honest young man, as he seems to be a patriotic fellow, are you certain that you are wise in objecting?’

‘I do object,’ said Mrs. Nicholson, and indeed her motives for refusing her consent were only too obvious.

‘Are they quite definitely engaged?’ asked Merton.

’Yes they are now, by letter, and she says she will wait for him till I die, or she is twenty-six, if I don’t give my consent.  He writes every mail, from places with outlandish names, in Africa.  And she keeps looking in a glass ball, like the labourers’ women, some of them; she’s sunk as low as that; so superstitious; and sometimes she tells me that she sees what he is doing, and where he is; and now and then, when his letters come, she shows me bits of them, to prove she was right.  But just as often she’s wrong; only she won’t listen to me.  She says it’s Telly, Tellyopathy.  I say it’s flat nonsense.’

‘I quite agree with you,’ said Merton, with conviction.  ’After all, though, honest, as far as you hear. . . .’

‘Oh yes, honest enough, but that’s all,’ interrupted Mrs. Nicholson, with a hearty sneer.

’Though he bears a good character, from what you tell me he seems to be a very silly young man.’