I dare say it is. It's the word Alec used in describing the voice in
which old Mr. Saffron recited his poem, or whatever it was, in bed."

"But I've talked to Mr. Saffron; his voice isn't like that; it's a little
high, but full and rather melodious."

"Oh, well then--" He spread out his hands, as though acknowledging a
check. "Still, the voice described as metallic seems to have been Mr.
Saffron's; at a certain moment at least. As a merely medical question of
some interest, I wonder if such a symptom or sign of--er--irritability
could be intermittent, coming and going with the--er--fits! Irechester
didn't say anything on that point. Have you any opinion?"

"None. I don't know. I should like to ask Dr. Irechester." Then, with a
sudden smile, she amended, "No, I shouldn't!"

"And why not, pray? Professional etiquette?"

"No, pride. Dr. Irechester laughed at me. I think I see why now; and
perhaps why Mr. Beaumaroy--" She broke off abruptly, the slightest
gesture of her hand warning Naylor also to be silent.

Having said good-bye to his friends by the window, Beaumaroy was
sauntering across the room to pay the like courtesy to herself and
Naylor. Mary rose to her feet; there was an air of decision about her,
and she addressed Beaumaroy almost before he was within speaking distance
as it is generally reckoned in society.

"If you're going home, Mr. Beaumaroy, shall we walk together? It's time I
was off, too."

Beaumaroy looked a little surprised, but undoubtedly pleased. "Well, now,
what a delightful way of prolonging a delightful visit. I'm truly
grateful, Dr. Arkroyd."

"Oh, you needn't be!" said Mary with a little toss of her head.

Naylor watched them with amusement. "He'll catch it on that walk!" he was
thinking. "She's going to let him have it! I wish I could be there to
hear." He spoke to them openly: "I'm sorry you must both go, but, since
you must, go together. Your walk will be much pleasanter."

Mary understood him well enough, and gave him a flash from her eyes. But
Beaumaroy's face betrayed nothing, as he murmured politely: "To me, at
all events, Mr. Naylor."

Naylor was not wrong as to Mary's mood and purpose. But she did not find
it easy to begin. Pretty quick at a retort herself, she could often
foresee the retorts open to her interlocutor. Beaumaroy had provided
himself with plenty: the old man's whim; the access to the old man so
willingly allowed, not only to her but to Captain Alec; his own c