"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.
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