Poor Lovaway was much agitated. It seemed to him that he had been drawn into an infamous conspiracy against the liberty of a particularly helpless human being. “I don’t think you ought to have asked me to come here,” he said. “I don’t think you should have suggested---- It seems to me, sergeant, that your conduct has been most reprehensible. I’m inclined to think I ought to report the matter to--to----” Dr. Lovaway was not quite sure about the proper place to which to send a report about the conduct of a sergeant of the Irish Police. “To the proper authorities,” he concluded feebly. “There, there,” said the sergeant, soothingly, “we’ll say no more about the matter. I wouldn’t like you to be vexed, doctor.” But Dr. Lovaway, having once begun to speak his mind, was not inclined to stop. “This isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened,” he said. “You’ve asked me to certify lunacy in some very doubtful cases. I don’t understand your motives, but----” “Well, well,” said the sergeant, “there’s no harm done anyway.” Mrs. Finnegan, like all good women, was anxious to keep the peace among the men under her roof. “Is the tea to your liking, doctor,” she said, “or will I give you a taste more sugar in it? I’m a great one for sugar myself, but they tell me there’s them that drinks tea with ne’er a grain of sugar in it at all. They must be queer people that do that.” She held a spoon, heaped up with sugar, over the doctor’s cup as she spoke. He was obliged to stop lecturing the sergeant in order to convince her that his tea was already quite sweet enough. It was, indeed, far too sweet for his taste, for he was one of those queer people whose tastes Mrs. Finnegan could not understand. The drive home ought to have been in every way pleasanter than the drive out to Ballygran. Patsy Doolan’s mare was subdued in temper; so docile, indeed, that she allowed Jimmy to put her between the shafts. She made no attempt to stand on her hind legs, and did not shy even at a young pig which bolted across the road in front of her. Dr. Lovaway could sit on his side of the car without holding on. The rain had ceased and great wisps of mist were sweeping clear of the hilltops, leaving fine views of grey rock and heather-clad slopes. But Dr. Lovaway did not enjoy himself. Being an Englishman he had a strong sense of duty, and was afflicted as no Irishman ever is by a civic conscience. He felt that he ought to bring home somehow to Sergeant Rahilly a sense of the iniquity of trying to shut up sane, or almost sane, people in lunatic asylums. Being of a gentle and friendly nature he hated making himself unpleasant to anyone, especially to a man like Sergeant Rahilly, who had been very kind to him.