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so much, Mr Strachan, for the dinner, and for everything you're doing for me," she said.
    "It has been a very great pleasure to me, Miss Paget," I replied, and I meant it.
    She hesitated, and then she said, smiling, "Mr Strachan, we're going to have a good deal to do with each other. My name is Jean. I'll go crackers if you keep on calling me Miss Paget."
    "You can't teach an old dog new tricks," I said awkwardly. She laughed.
    "You said just now you don't feel any different as you get older. You can try and learn."
    "I'll bear it in mind," I said. "Sure you can manage all right now?"
    "Of course. Goodnight, Mr Strachan."
    "Goodnight," I said, lifting my hat and dodging the issue. "I'll let you know about the opera."
    In the following weeks while probate was being granted I took her to a good many things. We went together to the opera several times, to the Albert Hall on Sunday afternoons, and to art galleries and exhibitions of paintings. In return, she took me to the cinema once or twice. I cannot really say that she developed any very great artistic appreciation. She liked paintings more than concerts. If it had to be music she preferred it in the form of opera and the lighter the better; she liked to have something to look at while her ears were assailed. We went twice to Kew Garden as the spring came on. In the course of these excursions she came several times to my flat in Buckingham Gate; she got to know the kitchen, and made tea once or twice when we came in from some outing together. I had never entertained a lady in that flat before except my daughters-in-law, who sometimes come and use my spare room for a night or two in London.
    Her business was concluded in March, and I was able to send her her first cheque. She did not give up her job at once, but continued to go to the office as usual. She wanted, very wisely, to build up a small reserve of capital from her monthly cheques before starting to live on them; moreover, at that time she had not made up her mind what she wanted to do.
    That was the position one Sunday in April. I had arranged a little jaunt for her that day; she was to come to lunch at the flat and after that we were going down to Hampton Court, which she had never seen. I thought that the old palace and the spring flowers would please her, and I had been looking forward to this trip for several days. And then, of course, it rained.
    She came to the flat just before lunch, dripping in her dark blue raincoat, carrying a very wet umbrella. I took the coat from her and hung it up in the kitchen. She went into my spare room and tidied herself; then she came to me in the lounge and we stood watching the rain beat against the Palace stables opposite; wondering what we should do instead that afternoon.
    We had not got that settled when we sat down to coffee before the fire after lunch. I had mentioned one or two things but she seemed to be thinking about other matters. Over the coffee it came out, and she said,
    "I've made up my mind what I want to do first of all, Mr Strachan."
    "Oh?" I asked. "What's that?"
    She hesitated. "I know you're going to think this very odd. You may think it very foolish of me, to go spending money in this way. But-well, it's what I want to do. I think perhaps I'd better tell you about it now, before we go out."
    It was warm and comfortable before the fire. Outside the sky was dark, and the rain streamed down on the wet pavements.
    "Of course, Jean," I replied. "I don't suppose it's foolish at all. What is it that you want to do?"
    She said, "I want to go back to Malaya, Mr Strachan. To dig a well."

Chapter 2
    I suppose there was a long pause after she said that. I remember being completely taken aback, and seeking refuge in my habit of saying nothing when you don't know what to say. She must have felt reproof in my silence, I suppose, because she leaned towards me, and she said, "I know it's a funny thing to want to do. May I tell you about it?"
    I said, "Of course. Is this