‘And that,’ said Miss Mayfield, ‘is extremely kind of him. The question is, can I afford it? I know that when I left Africa, I had no resources; it is unlikely that I have saved much. . . .’ She remembered, but did not mention, her determination to send Rose every penny she could spare once she was earning again. Had she done, so? ‘I suppose I shall have my salary up to the time of my accident, and perhaps for the month following. . . . But then how do I know that I shall ever be able to teach again? Who would want a teacher who couldn’t remember? I don’t think I’m justified taking a holiday.’

‘You worry unnecessarily,’ said the Almoner. ‘I don’t think you fully realize how fortunate you are. Canon Thorby has made himself responsible for your stay in this Private Ward, and professes himself eager to pay for your stay in Hove.’

‘But can he afford it? All the clergymen I have known have seemed to be so poor.’

‘Canon Thorby is extremely well to do. And he delights to use his money to help people.’

‘Have you ever seen him?’ Miss Mayfield asked abruptly.

‘Of course I have. Dozens of times.’

‘What is he like? To look at, I mean.’

The Almoner’s rather weary face took on the baffled look which such a question evokes in all but the very articulate.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘He’s tall. Rather nice-looking. Reddish hair, just going grey.’

‘You see. It calls nothing to my mind. Yet it seems I must accept his charity.’

‘There’s no must about it, Miss Mayfield. The facts are that you are no longer in need of medical attention, and we are short of beds and nurses. Perhaps you have some plan of your own; some friends . . . ?’

‘My only friend – if she is still alive – lives in Africa.’

‘Then don’t you think you would be wise to consider Canon Thorby’s offer?’

And aren’t you lucky to have it to consider?

‘There seems to be no choice,’ Miss Mayfield said; and despite herself, the words emerged querulously.

‘The arrangement was that I should telephone to Mrs Mott-Tyler and she would come and fetch you by car. You could leave tomorrow, couldn’t you? We really do need the room.’

For somebody with some definite, cure-or-kill condition. Loss of memory, like deafness, did not evoke sympathy.

‘I suppose that Canon Thorby has explained my state to Mrs Mott-Tyler?’

‘Oh yes. You see, Miss Mayfield, everybody thinks that to get back to normal life . . . Canon Thorby said that there would be various little jobs which you could do to help Mrs Mott-Tyler, and that if you were occupied you would be . . . happier.’

In short, they suspect me of self-pitying egoism, only just short of malingering. She felt her face go hot.

‘Naturally, I should be glad to do anything I could. And tomorrow will suit me very well.’