"No, I would not like that. Certainly, dear, we will ask him down, but I will send our car for him. I was going to suggest having him here if you want to see him." "Thank you very much. I will write to him at once." In the afternoon Mrs. Wharnecliffe drove her over to see her old blind friend, Sir Gilbert Winnington. Gentian looked with interest at the old Tudor house as they approached it. The green leaves and shrubberies surrounding it with the spring flowers again evoked her admiration. "You have not the colour we have in Italy, but you are cool and green and shady and your trees are so big and old, that they look as if they've been here for hundreds of years." "And so they have," replied Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "And this house is five hundred years old." "Has your friend always been blind?" "No, only about seven years. He lives quite alone with a secretary who is devoted to him. But he often has nieces staying with him, and he is the most cheery contented being in the world." They were shown into a long low room which struck Gentian as one of the most comfortable she had seen in England. Books and pictures abounded; the easy chairs and couches were, all covered with soft blue leather, blue velvet curtains hung from the tall narrow windows, and thick Persian rugs were under foot. At a table near an open window sat Sir Gilbert and his young secretary. Gentian was introduced to them both, and then Mr. George Damers slipped away, and Sir Gilbert made his visitors comfortable beside him. "I am so glad you have brought your young friend to see me," Sir Gilbert said in a cheerful tone; "I always do like to have young people round me." "How do you know I am young?" asked Gentian. "By your voice," was the quick reply. "And you are quicksilvery by nature, and a little impatient." "You are a wizard! Waddy is always telling me the same." Then Gentian criticized her host. He was a tall, good-looking man, with a short grey beard, and rather delicately cut features. But there was a wonderfully peaceful look upon his face; he reminded Gentian of some of the saints in the pictures she had seen abroad. He and Mrs. Wharnecliffe talked together for some time and then he turned to Gentian. "I hear you play the organ. Come and see mine. It is in the hall." He led the way without a falter in his step, and it was not difficult to persuade him to play. Gentian sat back in an old carved chair in a dark corner of the hall, and as she listened, her whole soul was moved within her. Sir Gilbert played as she had heard few play before. The sweetness of the notes thrilled her through and through. Mrs. Wharnecliffe listened for some time, and then slipped away. She wanted to speak to Mr. Damers, and also wanted to leave Gentian alone with Sir Gilbert. When he at last ceased playing Gentian was at his elbow, and tears were in her voice.