As to what had happened to George afterwards, Radmore knew nothing.  He believed that his friend had joined the Indian Civil Service.  From childhood George had always intended to make his career in India, his maternal forebears having all been in the service of John Company.

During the last few days Radmore had thought a great deal of George, wondering what had happened to him during the war—­whether, for instance, he had at last managed, as did so many Anglo-Indian officials, to get leave to join the Army?  At one moment, before it had entered into his mind to write to his little godson, he had thought of opening up communications through George.  But he had rejected the notion.  The break had been so complete, and George, after all, was so closely connected with Betty!  Considering that he had not mentioned Betty’s brother, either when speaking to Janet on the telephone two or three days ago, or again just when he had made his unconventional re-entry into Old Place, it was odd how the thought of Betty’s twin haunted him as he followed his little guide upstairs.  Odd?  No, in a sense very natural, for he and George often raced each other up these very stairs.  They had been such pals in spite of the four years’ difference between them.

Radmore and Timmy were now in the kind of annex or wing which had been added some fifty years after the original mansion had been built.  The lower floor of this annex consisted of one big room which, even in the days of Radmore’s first acquaintance with the Tosswills, was only used in warm weather.  Above it were two good bedrooms—­the one still called “George’s room,” over-looked the garden, and had a charming view of bracken-covered hill beyond.

Timmy opened the door with a flourish, and Radmore saw at once that only one of the two beds was made up; otherwise the room was exactly the same, with this one great outstanding difference—­that it had a curiously unlived-in look.  The dark green linoleum on the floor appeared a thought more worn, the old rug before the fireplace a thought more shabby—­still, how well things lasted, in the old country!

He walked across to one of the windows, and the sight of the garden below now in its full autumn beauty, seemed to bring Janet Tosswill vividly before him.

“Your mother as great a gardener as ever?” he asked, without turning round, and Timmy said eagerly:—­“I should think she is!  And we’re going to sell our flowers and vegetables. We shall get the money now; the Red Cross got it during the war.”

As his godfather remained silent, the boy went on insistently:—­“Fifteen shillings a week clear profit is L40 a year, and Mum thinks it will come to more than that.”

Radmore turned round.

“I wonder if any of you have yet met a lady who’s just come to live here—­Mrs. Crofton?”

“Oh, yes, we’ve met her; in fact she’s been to supper.”  Timmy spoke without enthusiasm, but Radmore did not notice that.