A few more miscellaneous questions, and the list was exhausted. Almost suddenly, Dick fell into a kind of hypnotic sleep. Rogers sat pensive in front of his notes; sometimes he consulted a text-book. At the end of half an hour he awakened Dick to tell him that he had had, as a child, consciously or unconsciously, a great Freudian passion for his aunt; that later on he had had another passion, almost religious in its fervour and intensity, for somebody called Wilkinson; and that the cause of all his present troubles lay in one or other of these episodes. If he liked, he (Rogers) would investigate the matter further with a view to establishing a cure. Dick thanked him very much, thought it wasn't worth taking any more trouble, and went home. VII MILLICENT was organizing a hospital supply dépôt, organizing indefatigably, from morning till night. It was October; Dick had not seen his sister since those first hours of the war in Scotland; he had had too much to think about these last months to pay attention to anyone but himself. To-day, at last, he decided that he would go and pay her a visit. Millicent had commandeered a large house in Kensington from a family of Jews, who were anxious to live down a deplorable name by a display of patriotism. Dick found her sitting there in her office--young, formidable, beautiful, severe--at a big desk covered with papers. "Well," said Dick, "you're winning the war, I see." "You, I gather, are not," Millicent replied. "I believe in the things I always believed in." "So do I." "But in a different way, my dear--in a different way," said Dick sadly. There was a silence. "Had we better quarrel?" Millicent asked meditatively. "I think we can manage with nothing worse than a coolness--for the duration." "Very well, a coolness." "A smouldering coolness." "Good," said Millicent briskly. "Let it start smouldering at once. I must get on with my work. Good-bye, Dick. God bless you. Let me know sometimes how you get on." "No need to ask how you get on," said Dick with a smile, as he shook her hand. "I know by experience that you always get on, only too well, ruthlessly well." He went out. Millicent returned to her letters with concentrated ardour; a frown puckered the skin between her eyebrows.