It was a glorious June day, warm, with a gentle westerly wind, such a day as every doctor with a convalescent patient in his charge, hails with joy and thankfulness. She was reclining where he had seen her on his first visit to Hertford, but this time she did not rise, but held out a thin, white hand, which he took with such exaggerated care that she laughed. She was paler, thinner of face, older looking in some indefinite way. “You won’t break it,” she said. “Sit down, Mr. Tab.” “I like Mr. Tab very much better than I like Mr. Holland,” said Tab. “It is glorious here. Why do we swelter in the towns?” “Because the towns pay us our salaries,” she said drily. “Mr. Holland, will you do something for me?” He longed to tell her that if she asked him to stand on his head, or lie down whilst she wiped her feet upon him, she would be gladly obeyed. Instead: “Why, of course,” he said. “Will you sell some jewels for me? They are those which were found--in poor Mr. Trasmere’s vault.” “Sell your jewels,” he said in amazement, “why? Are you----” he checked himself. “I am not very poor,” she said quietly, “I have enough money to live on without working again--my last play was a very great success, and happily the profits----” She stopped dead. “At any rate, I am not poor.” “Then why sell your jewelry? Are you going to buy others?” he blurted out. She shook her head, and a smile dawned in her eyes. “No, my plan is this: I am going to sell the jewelry for what it is worth, and then I want you to distribute the money to such charities as you think best.” He was too astonished to answer, and she went on: “I know very little about charities and their values. I know in some cases all the money subscribed is swallowed up in officials’ salaries. But you will know these.” “Are you serious?” he at last found his voice to ask. “Quite,” she nodded gravely. “I think they are worth from twelve to twenty thousand. I am not sure. They are mine,” she went on a little defiantly, and unnecessarily so, thought Tab, “and I may do as I wish with them. I want them to be sold and the money distributed.” “But my dear Miss Ardfern----” he began. “My dear Mr. Holland!” she mocked him, “you must do as I tell you if you are going to help me at all.” “I’ll certainly carry out your wishes,” he said, “but it is a weighty lot of money to give away.” “It is a weighter lot of money to keep,” she said quietly. “There is another favour I ask--you must not write that I am the donor. You can describe me as a society woman, a retired trades-woman, or as anything you like, except as an actress, and of course my name must not even be hinted. Will you do this?” He nodded. “I have them here,” she said. “I kept them at the hotel and had them sent down to me by special messenger yesterday. And now that that business is over, come inside and lunch.”