"As if I should take advantage of being connected with the family!" Mrs. Vicat added indignantly. "So you must charge me for all the time you give me, my dear, whether anything comes of it or not."
"We'll see," said Ben. "What kind of a memorial were you thinking of?"
"Well," said Mrs. Vicat. "At first I was thinking of an obelisk or a cross, or something like that. You know the kind of thing. There's one in Sloane Square. But somehow I've rather changed my mind. There are so many of those, all over the country, and I'm wondering if it's quite right to put up another just to one officer.
"And of course," she continued, "there will be a monument in the church: that's all arranged for. I've got a nice architect—one that will let me have my own way a little, I'm assured; not one of those masterful quarrelsome ones. Architects can be very trying, my dear. You should see our house—all the living rooms and the bedrooms on the north, and the passages and the kitchen and larder on the south! Everything sacrificed to the entrance! My poor dear husband argued with him night and day, but he was too much for us. But that's neither here nor there. The monument is all arranged; it's the memorial I'm worrying about now, and Belle told me to come to you."
"How much do you want to spend?" Ben asked.
"I don't mind," said Mrs. Vicat forlornly. "It's the only interest in life I have left."
"Had your son any particular hobbies?" Ben asked. "Did he support any particular kind of charity?"
"I can't say that he did," said Mrs. Vicat. "He had a wonderful collection of postage stamps. But that doesn't help much."
"No," said Ben, puckering her brow. "And yet," she continued, "you would like it to be useful?"
"Yes, I want it to be really helpful," said Mrs. Vicat. "I want my son's name to be associated with something that would benefit people. I saw a very pretty drinking-fountain the other day, which was also a War Memorial."