“He’ll have to be watched,” said the nephew.  “We can’t have lunatics at large in Hampstead.”

“But, Wilfred,” said the old lady, “will our man-power stand it?  Couldn’t they watch each other?  Or, if it would be any help, I could watch him myself.  I took such a fancy to his dear dog.”

“I shall take steps,” said the nephew.

“No, don’t do that.  I’ll go and call on the people, next door.  Their name is Scarlet.  They’ll know about him, no doubt.  We mustn’t do anything inconsiderate.”

The nephew, muttering and feeling his calf, withdrew to his study.  And the old lady, having put on her bonnet, set forth placidly, unaccompanied by her little white dog.

On arriving at the castle embedded in acacias and laurustinus she asked of the maid who opened: 

“Can I see Mrs. Scarlet?”

“No,” replied the girl dispassionately; “she’s dead.”

“Mr. Scarlet, then?”

“No,” replied the girl he’s a major.”

“Oh, dear!” said the old lady.

“Miss Isabel’s at home,” said the girl, who appeared, like so many people in time of war, to be of a simple, plain-spoken nature; “you’ll find her in the garden.”  And she let the old lady out through a French window.

At the far end, under an acacia, Mrs. Sinkin could see the form of a young lady in a blue dress, lying in a hammock, with a cigarette between her lips and a yellow book in her hands.  She approached her thinking, “Dear me! how comfortable, in these days!” And, putting her head a little on one side, she said with a smile:  “My name is Sinkin.  I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

The young lady rose with a vigorous gesture.

“Oh, no!  Not a bit.”

“I do admire some people,” said the old lady; “they seem to find time for everything.”

The young lady stretched herself joyously.

“I’m taking it out before going to my new hospital.  Try it,” she said touching the hammock; “it’s not bad.  Will you have a cigarette?”

“I’m afraid I’m too old for both,” said the old lady, “though I’ve often thought they must be delightfully soothing.  I wanted to speak to you about your neighbour.”

The young lady rolled her large grey eyes.  “Ah!” she said, “he’s perfectly sweet.”

“I know,” said the old lady, “and has such a dear dog.  My nephew’s very interested in them.  You may have heard of him—­Wilfred Sinkin—­a very clever man; on so many Committees.”

“Not really?” said the young lady.

“Oh, yes!  He has one of those heads which nothing can disturb; so valuable in these days.”

“And what sort of a heart?” asked the young lady, emitting a ring of smoke.

“Just as serene.  I oughtn’t to say so, but I think he’s rather a wonderful machine.”

“So long as he’s not a doctor!  You can’t think how they get on your nerves when they’re, like that.  I’ve bumped up against so many of them.  They fired me at last!”