'That's it,' cried Lady Conroy, delighted, as she lit a cigarette. 'That's it--someone who will prevent me dropping cigarette ash all over the room and remember my engagements and help me with my war work and write my letters and do the telephoning. That's all I shall want. Of course, if she could do a little needlework--No, no, that wouldn't do. You couldn't expect her to do brainwork as well as needlework.' Edith broke in. 'Do you remember mentioning to me a girl you met at Boulogne--a nurse called Dulcie Clay?' 'Perfectly well,' answered Lady Conroy, puffing away at her cigarette, and obviously not speaking the truth. Edith laughed. 'No, my dear, you don't. But it doesn't matter. Well, this girl has been nursing Mr Aylmer Ross, and he doesn't need her any more--at least he won't after next week. Would you see her and judge for yourself? You might try her.' 'I'm sure I shall if I take her. I'm afraid I'm a trying person. I try everyone dreadfully. Oh, by the way, Edith, I met such a perfect angel coming over. He was a wounded soldier. He belongs to the Black Watch. Doesn't the name Black Watch thrill you? He's in the Irish Guards, so, of course, my heart went out to him.' 'The Irish Guards as well?' 'Oh no. That was another man.' She put her hand to her forehead. 'I'm worrying you, dear, with my bad memory. I'm so sorry. Well, then, you'll see Madame Frabelle for me?' 'I will if you like, but not as a companion. It's Miss Clay.' 'Miss Clay,' repeated Lady Conroy. 'Ah, here's tea. Do you take milk and sugar. Edith?' 'Let me pour it out,' said Edith, to whom it was maddening to see the curious things Lady Conroy did with the tea-tray. She was pouring tea into the sugar basin, looking up at Edith with the sweetest smile. 'I can't stay long,' Edith went on. 'I'm very sorry, dear, but you remember I told you I'm in a hurry.... I've an appointment at Landi's studio.' 'Landi? And who is that?' 'You know him--the composer--Sir Tito.' 'Oh, darling Sir Tito! Of course I do know him!' She smiled reminiscently. 'Won't you have anything to eat, dear? Do have a muffin! Oh, bother, there are none. I wonder how it is cook always forgets? Then you're going to send Madame Frabelle to see me the day after tomorrow?' Edith took both her hands and shook them, laughing, as she stood up. 'I will arrange to send Miss Clay to see you, and if you like her, if you don't mind waiting about ten days or a fortnight, you might engage her. It would be doing her a great kindness. She's not happy at home.' 'Oh, poor girl!' 'And she went as a nurse,' continued Edith, 'chiefly because she couldn't think of anything else to do. She isn't really strong enough for nursing.' 'Isn't she? How sad, poor girl. It reminds me of a girl I met at Boulogne. So pretty and nice. In very much the same position really. She also wasn't happy at home--' 'This is the same girl,' said Edith. 'You wrote to me about her.'