He stopped at the nearest point to the House and wished me good luck very cheerily. I found the entrance to the casual ward with difficulty⁠—the walls seemed very high and the night was dark. When, at last, I unearthed the bell, the long clanging peal was ominous. Automatically the door opened, and the porter told me to come inside.

He was a nice looking young man with bright eyes and a great sense of humour.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The inevitable “Annie Turner” duly came forth.

“Where were you born?”

The question seemed to me ridiculous.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“Now, that’s a pity,” said the porter. “Where did you go to school?”