The Stranger heard her. Such people do not only hear with their ears. She laughed. "You shall see the receipt," she said. Out of her large pocket she dragged several things before she found what she sought. The sixth member noticed several packets labelled MAGIC, which the Stranger handled very carefully. "Frightfully explosive," she said. "I believe you're drunk," said Miss Ford, as she took the receipt. It really was a War Loan receipt, and the name and address on it were: "Miss Hazeline Snow, The Bindles, Pymley, Gloucestershire." Lady Arabel smiled in a relieved way. She had not long been a social worker, and had not yet acquired a taste for making fools of the undeserving. "So this is your name and address," she said. "No," said the Stranger simply. "This is your name and address," said Lady Arabel more loudly. "No," said the Stranger. "I made it up. Don't you think 'The Bindles, Pymley,' is too darling?" "Quite drunk," repeated Miss Ford. She had attended eight committee meetings that week. "S--s--s--sh, Meta," hissed Lady Arabel. She leaned forward, not smiling, but pleasantly showing her teeth. "You gave a false name and address. My dear, I wonder if I can guess why." "I dare say you can," admitted the Stranger. "It's such fun, don't you think, to get no thanks? Don't you sometimes amuse yourself by sending postal orders to people whose addresses look pathetic in the telephone book, or by forgetting to take away the parcels you have bought in poor little shops? Or by standing and looking with ostentatious respect at boy scouts on the march, always bearing in mind that these, in their own eyes, are not little boys trotting behind a disguised curate, but British Troops on the Move? Just two pleased eyes in a crowd, just a hundred pounds dropped from heaven into poor Mr. Bonar Law's wistful hand...." Miss Ford began to laugh, a ladylike yet nasty laugh. "You amuse me," she said, but not in the kind of way that would make anybody wish to amuse her often. Miss Ford was the ideal member of committee, and a committee, of course, exists for the purpose of damping enthusiasms. The Stranger's manners were somehow hectic. Directly she heard that laughter the tears came into her eyes. "Didn't you like what I was saying?" she asked. Tears climbed down her cheekbones. "Oh!" said Miss Ford. "You seem to be--if not drunk--suffering from some form of hysteria." "Do you think youth is a form of hysteria?" asked the Stranger. "Or hunger? Or magic? Or--"