“If he looks like that, perhaps he hasn’t any name.  Perhaps he is a button-moulder.  In fact I’m almost certain he is—­other name Willits.  Occupation, professor.”

“But if he is a button-maker, he can’t be a professor,” said Ann shrewdly.

“Oh, yes he can.  Button-moulding is what he professes.  His line is a specialty in spoiled buttons.  He makes them over.”

“Second-hand?”

“Better than new.”

Ann fidgeted idly with the doctor’s cuff-links and then with a flash of her odd childish comprehension, “You love him a lot, don’t you?” she said jealously.

The doctor adjusted a collar button.

“England expects that every man shall deny the charge of loving another,” he said, “but between you and me, I do rather like old Willits.  You see I was rather a worn-out button once and he made me over.  Where did you say he was?”

“In the parlour—­there’s Aunt!  She said I wasn’t to stay.  I’ll get it.”

Indeed the voice of Mrs. Sykes could be heard on the stairs.

“Ann!  Where’s that child?  Doctor, you’d think that child had never been taught no manners.  You’ll have to take a firm stand with Ann, Doctor.  Land Sakes, I don’t want to make her out worse’n she is, but you might as well know that your life won’t be worth living if you don’t set on Ann.”

“All right, Mrs. Sykes.  Painful as it may be, I shall do it.  Are you sure it’s safe to leave a stranger in the parlour?”

Mrs. Sykes looked worried.  “I hope to goodness it’s all right, Doctor.  He’s been in the parlour half an hour.  I don’t think he’s an agent, hasn’t got a case or a book anywhere.  But agents are getting cuter every day.  Naturally I didn’t like to go so far as to ask his name.  And I’m not asking it now.  Curiosity was never a fault of mine though I do say it.  Still a woman does like to know who’s setting in her front parlour.”

“And you shall,” declared Callandar kindly.  “Just hang on a few moments longer, dear Mrs. Sykes, and your non-existent but very justifiable curiosity shall be satisfied.”

The parlour at Mrs. Sykes opened to the right of the narrow hall.  Its two windows, distinguished by eternally half-drawn blinds of yellow, looked out upon the veranda, permitting a decorous gloom to envelop the sacred precincts.  Mrs. Sykes was too careful a housekeeper to take risks with her carpet and too proud of her possessions to care to hide their glories altogether; hence the blinds were never wholly drawn and never raised more than half way.  In the yellow gloom, one might feast one’s eyes at leisure upon the centre table, draped in red damask, mystic, wonderful, and on its wealth of mathematically arranged books, the Bible, the “Indian Mutiny” and “Water Babies” in blue and gold.  This last had been a gift to Ann and was considered by Mrs. Sykes to be the height of foolishness.  Still, a book is a book, especially when bound in blue and gold.