I went down to Baker Street and got into the train. We stopped at many stations, and after an hour's journey I began to wonder what was wrong. I asked another man in the compartment when we were due at Stanmore, and he looked surprised. "Why," he said, "you're on the wrong line; you ought to have changed at Harrow." I got out at the next station and found that I had an hour to wait for the return train to Harrow. As I sat on the platform I took from my pocket my host's letter. "Remember," it ran, "to change at Harrow," and the words were underlined. I arrived four hours late . . . and spent a pleasant week-end. One night I was dining out in London, and I told my host the new theory of forgetting. "That's all bunkum," he said. "Why, there is a flower growing at the front door there, and I can never remember the name of it. I am fond of flowers and never have any difficulty in remembering their names as a rule." "What flower is it?" I asked. He tried to recall it, and had to give it up. "It's the joke of the family," said his wife. "He can never remember the name Begonia." "Begonia!" cried my host, "that's the name! But surely you don't mean to tell me that I want to forget it? Why should I?" "It may be associated with something unpleasant in your life," I said. "Nonsense!" he laughed. "The name conveys nothing to me." We began to talk about other things. Ten minutes later my host suddenly exclaimed: "I've got it!" "What?" I asked. "That Begonia business. When I began business as a chartered accountant over twenty years ago, the first books I had to audit were the books of a company calling itself The Begonia Furnishing Company. I glanced through the books and soon concluded that they were swindlers. I worried over that case for a week; you see it was my first case, and I felt a little superstitious about it. However, at the end of a week I sent the books back saying that I couldn't see my way to undertake the auditing. I've never given them a thought since." I explained the mechanisms to him. The whole idea of this Begonia Company was so painful to him that he repressed it, that is, drove it down into the unconscious. Twenty years later he was unconsciously afraid to recall the name of the flower, because the name might have brought back the painful memories of the questionable books. On Friday night during question time one man got up. "Why is it, then," he asked, "that I cannot forget the painful time when my wife died?"