She was a plump and kindly lady of a little more than middle age, with evidences of wealth about her and a handkerchief ready for service.

"You don't know me," she said to Ben, "but I know you, or rather all about you. In a kind of way we're relations."

Ben expressed her surprise.

"If there is such a thing as a step-aunt," said the lady, "I'm one. I'm Belle's sister."

"Oh!" said Ben. "Mrs. Vicat?"

Her visitor admitted it.

"Of course," said Ben, sympathetically. "I've heard about you. Your son died quite recently. I'm so sorry."

The handkerchief came into play.

"Yes," said Mrs. Vicat. "He never had a chance, he was so badly wounded. But he lingered on and on and was always so brave. And now he's gone. It's because I want to do something in memory of him that I'm here. My sister told me to come to you. 'Go to "The Beck and Call,"' she said, 'and talk to my stepdaughter. She's very clever and quick at thinking of things. But of course you must pay,' she said.

"As if I should take advantage of being connected with the family!" Mrs. Vicat added indignantly. "So you must charge me for all the time you give me, my dear, whether anything comes of it or not."

"We'll see," said Ben. "What kind of a memorial were you thinking of?"

"Well," said Mrs. Vicat. "At first I was thinking of an obelisk or a cross, or something like that. You know the kind of thing. There's one in Sloane Square. But somehow I've rather changed my mind. There are so many of those, all over the country, and I'm wondering if it's quite right to put up another just to one officer.

"And of course," she continued, "there will be a monument in the church: that's all arranged for. I've got a nice architect—one that will let me have my own way a little, I'm assured; not one of those masterful quarrelsome ones. Architects can be very trying, my dear. You should see our house—all the living rooms and the bedrooms on the north, and the passages and the kitchen and larder on the south! Everything sacrificed to the entrance! My poor dear husband argued with him night and day, but he was too much for us. But that's neither here nor there. The monument is all arranged; it's the memorial I'm worrying about now, and Belle told me to come to you."

"How much do you want to spend?" Ben asked.

"I don't mind," said Mrs. Vicat forlornly. "It's the only interest in life I have left."

"Had your son any particular hobbies?" Ben asked. "Did he support any particular kind of charity?"

"I can't say that he did," said Mrs. Vicat. "He had a wonderful collection of postage stamps. But that doesn't help much."

"No," said Ben, puckering her brow. "And yet," she continued, "you would like it to be useful?"

"Yes, I want it to be really helpful," said Mrs. Vicat. "I want my son's name to be associated with something that would benefit people. I saw a very pretty drinking-fountain the other day, which was also a War Memorial."

"But you could afford something bigger than that?" Ben suggested.

"Oh, yes, money is no object. The cenotaph is very beautiful."

"Very," said Ben. "But that has a distinct purpose and you wouldn't wish to duplicate it."

"On the top of a hill," said Mrs. Vicat. "There's a beautiful high hill near us. Another cenotaph there would be most impressive."

"But isn't a cenotaph a monument to someone whose real burial place is somewhere else or isn't known?" Ben asked.

"Is it?" said Mrs. Vicat. "I didn't know. I thought it meant a War Memorial simply."

"Since you have come to me for advice," said Ben, "I must say what I feel about this, and that is that in memory and honour of your son you ought to do something of real practical help for his fellow-soldiers in distress. There are many incurables among them, and you could, for example, build and endow a home—say at the seaside—for them—to be comfortable in. That's an idea that occurs to me as I am talking."

"I should like that," said Mrs. Vicat. "That's a very nice idea. Belle said you were clever. And of course at the seaside, because then I could go down and visit it. I'm very fond of the sea. Do you know Littlehampton? I've been very happy there in that terrace overlooking the green where the children ride on donkeys. We took a house there one summer and stayed on through the winter. So mild. A seaside home at Littlehampton is a charming notion."

"If you would give me a little time to think and perhaps discuss the matter with others," said Ben, "I am sure I could put some more ideas before you. I should like to; it's the kind of task that would give me great pleasure to carry out. Will you come to-morrow at three?"

And Mrs. Vicat agreed, and, dabbing afresh at her eyes, made her way to her very luxurious limousine.

"Your employer is very clever," were her last words to Dolly, who helped her downstairs, as she gave him a shilling. On this, being a superstitious London boy, he was mindful, as soon as the car had moved on, to spit.