Chester lay on the grass looking up into the sky, complacently chewing a spear of grass, while Uncle Gilbert was talking.
"What was the woman's name?" asked Chester.
"I can't recall it just now. In fact, I don't think I ever heard it. Now, another thing that you must know, and you must not be annoyed at this: at times, I believe he imagines you to be that boy of his."
Chester sat up, and exactly at the moment when he looked into the face of Uncle Gilbert a cog in the machinery of his own thoughts caught into a cog of the wheel within wheels which the man at his side had been revealing. The cog caught, then slipped, then caught again. Wheels began to revolve, bringing into motion and view other possible developments.
"That's only when his illness makes him delerious," continued Uncle Gilbert. "As I said, you must pay no attention to him under those conditions, but I thought you ought to know."
"Yes; yes," whispered the young man—"Thank you." For him, Hyde Park and London had disappeared: all earthly things had become mist out of which he was trying to emerge.
"You don't know the woman's name," Chester asked again, with dry lips—"Tell me her name."
"I don't remember. I'm not sure, but I believe I have heard my brother, in his times of delerium speak of Anna."
"Anna. Anna," repeated Chester, as he stared into space. Uncle Gilbert looked at the young man, and then repented of telling him. He was a little annoyed at his manner. He arose, brushed the grass from his clothes, and said:
"Well, let's be going."