“It’s a very horrible case,” said Enid faintly.

She felt as if she were moving in a terrible nightmare world, unsuspected, unrealised by her till then.

“All abnormality is unpleasant,” said the doctor cheerfully, “I always thought the boy would grow out of it, and, to a certain extent, he has grown out of it.  You’ll hardly believe me, Mrs. Crofton, when I tell you that, as a little child, Timmy actually declared he could see fairies and gnomes, ‘the little people’ as we call them in my country!  I think that’s what first started this queer reputation of his among the village folk.  I tell you he’s anything but a welcome guest in the cottages—­people with evil consciences, you know!” The doctor laughed.  “They’re afraid of Master Timmy, that’s what the bad folks in Beechfield are—­they think he can ‘blight’ them, bring ill-luck on them.  Well, well, I mustn’t stop, gossiping here with you, though it’s very pleasant.  By the way, I’ll ask you to keep all I’ve said to you to yourself—­not but what the boy’s parents know quite well what I think about him!”

Then followed a few professional questions and answers, and then the doctor went off, well satisfied with his visit.

After Dr. O’Farrell had gone, Enid Crofton lay back and shut her eyes.  Her nerves had by no means recovered from the horrible experience, and she felt a sort of utter distaste to Beechfield and to everybody there—­with the one exception of Godfrey Radmore.  She promised herself fiercely that if Radmore did what she was always telling herself secretly he would surely end by doing, then she would make it her business to see that they never, either of them, came back to this horrible place any more.

Apart from anything else, Jack Tosswill was already beginning to be more of a complication than was pleasant to one in her weak, excited state.  He had left a letter when he called that morning—­an eager, ardent love-letter, entirely assuming that they were engaged to be married.

She took it out of the pretty fancy bag, which lay on her pale blue silk eiderdown, and read it through again with a mixture of amusement and irritation.  It was a long letter, written on the cheap, grey Old Place notepaper, very unlike another love-letter she had had to-day, written on nice, thick, highly-glazed letter-paper which had a small coronet embossed above the address.  In that letter Captain Tremaine urgently asked to be allowed to come down for the next week-end.  He pointed out that his leave was drawing to a close, and that they had a lot of things to discuss.  He, too, considered himself engaged to her, but somehow she didn’t mind that.  She told herself pettishly that Providence has a way of managing things very badly.  If only Tremaine had Radmore’s money, even only a portion of his money, how gladly she would leave England behind her, and start a new, free, delightful life in India!  Tremaine knew the kind of grand, smart people she longed to know.  He was staying with some of them now.