"The executive?"
"Such as the devotion of relatives."
"He has no relatives."
"Or, better still," said the doctor, "the love of a great-hearted lady." The muffled bell of a telephone interrupted. "Excuse me." He picked up the receiver. "Is that you, Heron? … Can you see a friend of mine this afternoon? … At four-thirty?" Sir Willoughby looked at Valerie with raised eyebrows. She nodded quickly. "Yes. That'll do … Miss French. Miss Valerie French … A case in the country … Urgent … She wants your report. I won't say any more. She'll tell you better than I. Ring me up, if you like, before you go. Good-bye." He pushed the instrument away and turned to Valerie. "I'll have another word with him when you've told him your tale."
"Thank you so very much."
Having laid three guineas upon the table under the decent cover of a photograph frame, Valerie rose to her feet. Sir Willoughby rose also and passed to the door. As he held it open, he put out his hand.
Valerie took it and held it.
"Nobody could have been kinder," she said.
The physician smiled.
"Try not to worry," he said. "I haven't seen Gramarye, but I don't think she'll stay the course. Not if you set the pace…."