The next morning when Ben entered "The Booklovers' Rest" it appeared to be empty. Not a sign even of Ernie Bent, who usually had to be removed from the doorstep, which he was scrubbing, to let her pass.

And then from the depths came the wistful words:

and Patrick hobbled out.

"I didn't know it was you," he said, and flushed.

"I wanted to try your pet divination scheme again," said Ben. "May I?"

"Of course," said Patrick.

"I will just fumble for a book," said Ben.

She closed her eyes, approached the shelves and took down a volume. Then she opened it, read a few words, and smiled.

"Was it all right?" Patrick asked.

"I think so," she said, and was about to run up the stairs, but stopped. "Oh, by the way, Mr. St. Quentin," she said, "I've got a client coming to-day to talk about a memorial to her son: something philanthropic and costly. If I were to ask you to come up and join us, could you—would you?"

"With the greatest pleasure," said Patrick, "especially as there's a catalogue due and I ought to be at work on it. But neglecting work is so agreeable."

"Soon after three," said Ben, and ascended to her own domain.

When there, however, she received a shock, for instead of the ordinary placid and competent Jan, was a nervous unhappy Jan, saying that she had been to see the doctor on the evening before and he had ordered her to stop work instantly and go to Bournemouth or Torquay.

"Of course I shall do nothing of the kind until I can find you someone else," she said, "but I know I'm not well. I've been feeling weak for a long while now and I have horrible nights."

"I'm very sorry," said Ben. "It's a good deal my fault too, for allowing you to go on having no proper lunch and getting no midday break. I blame myself seriously, but you know, Jan, you were very obstinate. What does the doctor say it is?"

"He's afraid I may go into a decline," said Jan, "unless I have good air, and do nothing, and drink milk and eat a lot; and—and—I'd much rather be with you."

Mrs. Vicat arrived puffingly to time and again placed her handkerchief within easy range.

"Well, my dear," she said, "what have you decided? I hope it's the Littlehampton home."

"I want you to hear what Mr. St. Quentin, one of the owners of the book shop downstairs, has to say," said Ben.

She rang the bell for Dolly and asked him to invite Mr. St. Quentin to step up.

"This is Mrs. Vicat," said Ben, and she prepared the ground. "Have you any ideas?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," said Patrick. "I have been thinking of nothing else all the morning, and I believe I have the answer. May I say how it strikes me; and you will forgive me if I am too long?

"I've been thinking," he said, "of the men blinded in the war. They have always been on my mind, but I never had a chance to help. Losing limbs is a disaster of a totally different kind; it's a bore, of course, to have a wooden leg, and be unable to join in sports any more, and so on; but it's nothing to squeal about. Whereas losing sight—that's terrible.

"I should doubt if any quarrel between nations is worth such a price as one blinded man.

"Sight is too glorious a possession. I have been shutting my eyes at intervals all the morning and realizing what it must be like never to open them again.

"'Never'—that is the appalling word.

"I don't mean only what every one who cares anything for the beauty of nature would miss—the first primrose, the new moon, a starry night, a yacht race, snow on the trees. Those are the obvious things and probably many a soldier had thought little enough about them. But put yourself in the position of a blinded soldier and think of his loss. The pretty girls, for example. That must be a loss indeed—the faces and figures of the pretty girls. You know how soldiers in their shirt-sleeves lean on the sills of barrack windows and compare notes on the girls who pass? Not too edifying perhaps, but think of the poor devils who can do this no more.

"And games—never to see another football match, another cricket match. I have seen blind men led into Lord's and watched their poor baulked faces as the sound of the bat against the ball is heard and the crowd cheers a boundary hit. They like to be there—they have the sense of still being in it; they can't bear not to participate in life—but the loss!

"I have seen them in theatres and music halls too, often; and there the spoken word still has its message; but oh, their baffled look when the laughter depends upon gesture!

"And then think of what blindness must mean to those who have loved pictures. The sense of touch, intensely developed, may reveal much, and certainly the beauty of shape, but it can convey no idea of colour. Finger tips passing over the surface of a Corot learn nothing of its beauty; the National Gallery for ever more is blotted out."

Patrick paused and blushed.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to become rhetorical. But it's too sad and I was carried away."

Mrs. Vicat, who had been quietly weeping for some time, implored him to go on.

"Everything you say is so right," she assured him. "And what do you propose?"

"I haven't any very useful suggestions," Patrick said, "but the endowment of new Braille presses might be considered. Many of the men, however, cannot be very much given to reading. What about broadcasting installations? They are all fond of music. Why shouldn't there be a grant of a wireless set to all institutions or houses where blinded soldiers are to be found?"

"There's nothing I wouldn't like to do for the blinded soldiers," said Mrs. Vicat, when he had finished. "And if you can arrange the Braille presses and the broadcasting too, I'll gladly pay what is necessary; but I had"—she almost whimpered—"set my heart on a seaside home, and I don't see that for the blind that is needed. What they want, as I understand it, is to be kept employed, beguiled; their minds and hands are to be continuously occupied so that they mayn't brood and mope. Isn't that it?"

"Yes," said Patrick. "That's a very great part of it. That's certainly the kindest thing we can do—to find them absorbing occupations and to make life a pleasure, if not actually an excitement, still."

"When I came in," said Mrs. Vicat to Ben, "I fancied that girl at the desk outside was crying. Is she unhappy?"

"Poor Jan!" said Ben. "Yes, she's just had a great shock. The doctor has told her that she must stop work and retire to some southern place, or she is in danger of going into a decline. She's miserable about it—partly for herself but a great deal for me, because she doesn't like to leave me in the lurch, she says."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Vicat, with sudden cheeriness, "now I've got it!"

She beamed on them with radiant triumph.

"What?" exclaimed Ben.

"The seaside home," she said. "We'll have the seaside home after all. Not for blinded soldiers—they shall be dealt with all right, Mr. St. Quentin, never fear!—but for poor working girls who need change and rest from London and can't afford it. Oh, how happy I am! I did so want that seaside home and now I've got it. Your poor girl can't go there this time because it won't be ready; but will you see about it at once, my dear? I leave the whole thing to you. You can build a new house or you can take an old house and adapt it. I'll have all the papers made out by my lawyer at once. And we'll call it the 'Adrian Vicat Seaside Home.' Will you do it?"

"Of course I will," said Ben.

"And you'll find out all about the other things?" Mrs. Vicat inquired of Patrick.

"At once," he said.

"I'm so happy," exclaimed Mrs. Vicat again. "Now my mind is perfectly at rest."

She went away in tearful content and Dolly was summoned to assist her again to the car and to receive the usual guerdon.

"Thank you," said Ben to Patrick. "You were splendid. I think we may call this a truly red-letter day. It's all most inspiring; but one thing in particular gives me enormous satisfaction."

"And that?" Patrick asked.

"You and I were in absolute agreement."

"But you didn't say a word."

"No, there was no need. But when I tried the Sortes VirgilianÆ this morning what do you think I stumbled on? Milton."

"Well?" said Patrick.

"Well, it opened at 'Samson Agonistes'!"