to direct them. This
would occur in all parts of London.

To the casual observer interested in the details of Mr. Naylor's life,
it would have appeared that London waited for his approach, and then
incontinently made a bee-line for him to enquire its way. With smiling
geniality Mr. Naylor would read the paper offered to him, make one or
two remarks, then with a wave of his hand and a further genial smile
proceed on his way.

His courtesy was almost continental. He would take great pains to
direct the enquirer, sometimes even proceeding part of the way with him
to ensure that he should not go astray.

Since the war Mr. Naylor had patriotically given up his car, handing it
over to the Red Cross, and receiving from the local secretary a letter
of very genuine thanks and appreciation. There had also been a
paragraph in _The Streatham Herald_ notifying this splendid act of
citizenship.

In nothing was Mr. Naylor's sense of Christian charity so manifest as
in the patience with which he answered the number of false rings he
received on the telephone. It was extraordinary the way in which wrong
numbers seemed to be put through to him; yet his courtesy never forsook
him. His reply was always the same. "No; I am Mr. Montague Naylor of
Streatham." It frequently happened that shortly after such a call Mr.
Naylor would go out, when James would be left in the front garden.

Mrs. Naylor had particular instructions always to make a note of any
rings that came on the telephone during Mr. Naylor's absence, no matter
whether they were for him or for anyone else. She was to take down
every word that was said, and always say in response that the
subscriber was on to Mr. Naylor of Streatham.

One morning whilst John Dene was giving down letters to Dorothy in his
customary jerky manner, Mr. Naylor sat at breakfast, his attention
equally divided between the meal and the morning paper. Opposite sat
Mrs. Naylor, watching him as a dog watches a master of uncertain
temper. She was a little woman with a colourless face, from which
sparse grey hair was drawn with puritan severity. In her weak blue
eyes was fear--fear of her lord and master, and in her manner
deprecation and apology.

The only sound to be heard were the champing of Mr. Naylor's jaws, and
the occasional rustle of the newspaper. Mr. Naylor was a hearty eater
and an omnivorous reader of newspapers. In the front garden James gave
occasional tongue, protesting again