Yes, there it was, with a funny old cemetery beside it, a little plain building, she thought it at first. The tower was square with a small window in the upper part and a beautiful red door at its base. There was something surprising about it, standing here, so sober, with the traffic roaring past, something harmonious and quieting. She walked a little beyond it to look back and see the long windows at the side. She supposed that it was old. For a moment she had forgotten her errand, but now she remembered and turned back, hurrying a little, not knowing quite where to go. She was standing just in front of the red doors, hesitating, when a voice said behind her,

“Were you looking for me? Are you Mrs. Ferrier?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Come into my office, won’t you?” She had just time to see the bright inquisitive eyes behind glasses, the pale bald head, and then she was following Dr. Willoughby into his office. He reminded her of a plump, cheerful bird, a robin perhaps.

“Sit down. Do you mind if I light my pipe?”

“Not at all.” She sat, unrelaxed, holding her handbag stiffly in her lap, while he eyed her, she felt, just as a bird might, shyly, glancingly.

“You must be very tired,” he said without especial emphasis, pulling at his pipe in short puffs to get it going. Then he looked at her again, tilting his head a little to one side.

“I’m not tired, so much as agitated,” she said. “The papers were rather a shock. None of it seems quite real,” she said stiffly.

“You mustn’t pay too much attention to all that, Mrs. Ferrier,” he said quite brusquely.

“I can’t help it. It’s so surprising, as if Edward had been a statesman or—I don’t know—more important than I knew. It’s all so terribly public, Dr. Willoughby, almost indecent. I thought professors——”

“Edward Cavan was a rather rare and special kind of professor, as I don’t need to tell you.” Isabel felt that he was playing for position, walking round and round the subject, until he could get a foothold, find out where she herself stood.

“I had no way of knowing. We have hardly seen each other in recent years.”

“Let there be no misunderstanding, Mrs. Ferrier,” he said gravely. “I had the greatest respect for your brother. I honored him.”

“Why?” Isabel asked eagerly, then blushed. “It’s a strange question, I know, but surely he had become so fierce, so difficult.”

“Yes,” Dr. Willoughby withdrew and thought this over. Then as if he had made up his mind, he leaned forward, clasping his hands and speaking very earnestly. Isabel, sensing that some hidden pressure was about to be exerted, pushed her chair back a fraction. “In general people of this faith are apt to be conservative, of course. Among the Protestant group we have been the traditionalists.”