He ran out and did what she asked.  Then he came back, and as she took him into her tiny living-room, he saw that there were tears rolling down her tired face.

“Is your child very ill?” he asked.

She nodded.  “Doctor says if she can get through the next two days she may be all right.”

“Is your husband with you?”

She shook her head.  “I’m a widow, sir; my husband was killed in the War.  I’m only caretaking here.  When the house up there is sold, they’ll turn me out.”

“I’m looking for a country house.  Perhaps I’ll come over and see it one day.  Is it an old house?”

“Well,” she said vaguely, “it isn’t a new house, sir.  It’s a mighty fine place, and they do say it’s going dirt cheap.”  And then she added slowly, “There’s a map hanging in the kitchen.  It was hanging up yonder in the servants’ hall but I brought it down here, as so many people asks the way.”

It was an old-fashioned country road map, and Radmore, bending down, saw in a moment where he was, and the best way home; and then feeling in a queer kind of mood, a mood in which a man may do a strange and unexpected thing, he took out of his pocket the L5 he had offered to Mr. Trotman.

“Look here,” he said, “I’d like you just to take this and get your little girl whatever you think necessary when she’s on the mend.  She’ll want a lot of care, eh?”

Twice the woman opened her mouth, and found she couldn’t speak.

He held out his hand, and she squeezed it with her thin, work-worn fingers.  “I do hope God will bless you, sir!” she said.  And he went back to the car, feeling oddly cheered.

* * * * *

It was past five when Radmore and Timmy crept like burglars through one of the back doors of Old Place.  He sent the boy straight up to bed, but he himself felt hopelessly wide awake, so he went out of doors again, into Janet’s delightful scented garden, and tramped up and down a bit to get warm.  Suddenly he knew that he was hungry.  Why shouldn’t he go into the scullery and brew himself a cup of tea?

As he went into the kitchen, he saw on the table a kettle, a spirit stove, a cup and saucer, tea caddy and teapot, even a thermos full of hot water—­everything ready to make an early cup of tea.  He left the thermos alone, and filled up the kettle at the scullery sink.

Radmore was still very much of an old campaigner.  Still it was a long time since he had made himself a cup of tea, and he became a little impatient for the cold water took a long time to boil.

The kettle was just beginning to sing, when the door which led to the flight of stairs connecting the scullery with the upper floors of the house opened quietly, and Betty appeared—­Betty, in a becoming blue dressing-gown, which intensified the peachy clearness of her skin, and the glint of pale gold in the shadowed fairness of her hair.  Morning was Betty’s hour.  As the day wore on, she was apt to become fagged and worried, especially since Nanna’s accident.