possibilities. Her acid smile was turned against herself when she
remembered that she had been fool enough to talk to Beaumaroy about
sensitive honor!

Well, never mind Mr. Beaumaroy! The case as to Mr. Saffron stood pretty
plain. It was queer and pitiful, but by no means unprecedented. She might
be not much of an alienist, as Dr. Irechester had been kind enough to
suggest to Mr. Naylor, but she had seen such cases herself--even
stranger ones, where even higher Powers suffered impersonation, with
effects still more tragically absurd to onlookers. And she remembered
reading somewhere--was it in Maudslay--that in the days of Napoleon, when
princes and kings were as ninepins to be set up and knocked down at the
tyrant's pleasure, the asylums of France were full of such great folk?
Potentates there galore! If she had Mr. Saffron's "record" before her,
she would expect to read of a vain ostentatious man, ambitious in his own
small way; the little plant of these qualities would, given a morbid
physical condition, develop into the fantastic growth of delusion which
she had now diagnosed in the case of Mr. Saffron--diagnosed with the
assistance of some lucky accidents!

But what was her duty now--the duty of Dr. Mary Arkroyd, a duly
qualified, accredited, responsible medical practitioner? With a slight
shock to her self-esteem she was obliged to confess that she had only
the haziest idea. Had not people who kept a lunatic to be licensed or
something? Or did that apply only to lunatics in the plural? And did
Beaumaroy keep Mr. Saffron within the meaning of whatever the law
might be? But at any rate she must do something; the state of things
at Tower Cottage could not go on as it was. The law of the
land--whatever it was--must be observed, Beaumaroy must be foiled, and
poor old Mr. Saffron taken proper care of. The course of her