As he concluded, he gazed at her with his dark shifty eyes, and Wynyard noticed the nervous twitching of his hands. “I’m sure I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” she said, with the utmost composure, though her lips were livid. Jim was getting worse--this scene marked a new phase of his illness--another milestone on the road to dementia. “We were inseparable, Katie, I can tell you, and went up together for our leave to Naini Tal, and stayed at the club, rowed in the regatta, had a ripping time, and went shooting in Kumaon. I say, Owen, do you remember the panther that took your dog near Bhim Tal--and how you got him?” Wynyard nodded assent--in for a penny, in for a pound! He was impersonating a dead man, and what was a dead dog more or less? “Do you remember the cairn we raised over him, and he was so popular, every one who knew him, that passed up or down, placed a stone on it?” “Wouldn’t you like to go and smoke in the dining-room?” suggested Mrs. Ramsay. “Jim, I’ll ring for Mary to light the lamp, she does not know you are in.” “No, no, I’ll go myself,” and he shuffled into the hall. “He has taken you for some one else, of course, poor fellow!” she said, turning quickly to Wynyard, and speaking under her breath. “Yes,” he answered, “for my father--but please keep this to yourself--I’ve always heard I am extraordinarily like him.” “Then humour him, humour him, _do_. You see how bright and happy this imaginary meeting has made him. Oh, it will be so kind of you to talk to him of India--he loves it--how I wish you knew the country--you must pretend, and I will coach you. Lucknow is very hot, and gay, not far----” “But I needn’t pretend,” he broke in, “I know the country--yes--and Lucknow too. I was there with my father’s old regiment.” She stared at him for a moment in bewildered astonishment. “I say, you won’t give me away, will you?” he added anxiously. “No; is it likely? If you will only come and talk to him of an evening now and then, it will be truly one of the good deeds that will be scored up to you in heaven. Ah, here he is, and the lamp.” “Now come along, Owen,” he said briskly. “Here you are, I’ve got my best tobacco for you. Let’s have a bukh!” And what a bukh it was! Captain Ramsay carried on most of the conversation, and as he discoursed of old friends, of shikar, of camps and manœuvres, racing and polo, his sunken eyes kindled, he became animated; it was another personality to that of the silent, drooping figure known to Ottinge. Wynyard, as he listened and threw in a word or two, could now dimly realise the good-looking smart officer in this poor stranded wreck. Mrs. Ramsay, who had brought her work and her little dog, sat somewhat apart, beyond the shaded lamp’s rays, listened, wondered, and inwardly wept. What vital touch to a deadened mind had kindled these old memories? What a mysterious organ was the human brain!