Radmore was impressed, disagreeably so, in spite of himself; but:  “Look here, Timmy,” he said chaffingly.  “The Greeks have a proverb about the bearer of ill-tidings; don’t let yourself ever become that, old man!  Have you ever heard, by the by, about ’the long arm of coincidence’?”

Timmy nodded.

“Don’t you think it possible that your having dreamt about Dr. O’Farrell just before Dolly was taken ill may have been that long arm of coincidence—­and nothing more?  I can’t help thinking that probably your mother said something about sending for Dr. O’Farrell—­for people don’t get measles in a minute, you know; they are seedy for some days beforehand—­and that made you dream of him.  Eh?”

But Timmy answered obliquely, as was rather his way when brought to book by some older person than himself.  “I think this time it’s going to be an accident,” he said thoughtfully.

And an accident it was!  Old Nanna, who, in spite of her age, had become the corner-stone of the household as regarded its material well-being, slipped on the back staircase, and sprained her leg, and of course it was Radmore who went off in his car to fetch and bring back Dr. O’Farrell.

A slight alleviation to their troubles was brought about by Miss Pendarth, who was going off on a visit the very day the accident happened, and who practically compelled Janet to accept the temporary service of her own excellent servant.  It was her readiness to give that sort of quick, kindly, decisive help which made so many of those who had the privilege of her acquaintance regard Miss Pendarth with the solid liking which is founded on gratitude.

But the help, offered and accepted in the same spirit, could not go on for long, for Miss Pendarth came home after a four days’ absence; and, for the first time in many months, Janet Tosswill made time to pay a formal call at Rose Cottage in order that she might thank her old friend.  She intended to stay only the time that strict civility enjoined, and she would have been surprised indeed had she been able to foresee what a pregnant and, to her, personally, painful train of events were to follow as a result of the quarter of an hour she spent in Miss Pendarth’s old-fashioned upstairs sitting-room where only privileged visitors were ever made welcome.

“Will you come upstairs to-day, Janet?  I have something about which I want to consult you.”

And then, when they had sat down, Miss Pendarth said abruptly:  “While I was in Essex I came across some people who had been acquainted with Mrs. Crofton and her husband.”

Janet looked across at the speaker with some surprise.  “What an odd thing!” she exclaimed, and she did think it rather odd.

But Olivia Pendarth was a very honest woman—­too honest, some people might have said.  “It was not exactly odd,” she said quickly, “for, to tell you the truth, I made it my business while there to make certain enquiries about the Croftons.  In fact, I partly went to Essex for that purpose, though I did not tell my friends so.”