I had only one week in Edinburgh before leaving for London, owing to the fact that my return passage to Bombay had been booked before I ever left India. My problem was: to whom could I go for advice? That I could answer easily. I went around to the Deaconess' House in Edinburgh to see the head of the Church of Scotland deaconesses. She was a sister of Sir William Maxwell of Cardoness Castle and sister-in-law of the aunt with whom I was stopping. To me she was always "Aunt Alice" and I adored her for there was no narrowness or stupidity in her. I can see her now - tall and straight in her brown deaconess' uniform, getting up to welcome me in her lovely sitting-room. Her uniforms were made of heavily corded brown silk and she usually wore real lace collars and cuffs which I had made for her. I was an exceedingly good lace maker. I had learned to make Irish Carrickmacross needle-point lace [97] when quite a young girl and it was really beautiful. For several years I had made her collars and cuffs in gratitude for the fact she had always understood me. She had never married but she knew life and she loved people. I told her the story of Walter Evans, about the Major in London and about the silly, wealthy idiot who had followed me home and was even then standing outside the house. I can see her now going over to the window and peeking at him through the lace curtain and laughing. We talked for two hours and she told me to leave the matter to her, that she would think over and pray over what I should do. She told me she would do what she rightly could to straighten out my problem as I was too ill to have any judgment or common sense left. I relaxed under her skillful handling and went back to my aunt feeling better. In a few days' time I went down to London and took the boat again for India accompanied by Gertrude Davies-Colley who undertook to stay with me and take care of me as I was obviously too ill to be left alone.

In the meantime "Aunt Alice" got in touch with Walter Evans. His time in the army was nearly up and he was booked to leave India. She paid all his expenses to go to the United States and there to take a theological course and so become a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, the American equivalent of the Church of England. This she did to give him a social standing which would make it easier for me eventually to marry him. She did the whole thing in an absolutely open manner, keeping me informed of every step she took and letting Miss Sandes know also what she [98] was doing. The whole matter, however, was kept exceedingly quiet as regards me and my work in the army and (when eventually I left India to be married) it was understood that I was returning to marry a clergyman.

When I got back to London I went to see Sir Alfred Schofield, brother of Theo Schofield, and at that time one of the leading neurologists and physicians in London. I put myself into his hands. He was a brilliant man and really understood me. I went to him terrified over my headaches. I had an idea that I had a tumor on the brain, or was going insane or something equally silly and I was too physically ill to combat those phobias successfully. After talking to me for a little while he got up from his desk and strolled over to the bookcase from which he took a large and ponderous tome. Opening it he pointed to a certain paragraph and said, "Young lady, read those four or five lines and get [99] rid of your fears." I read that migraine was never fatal; had no effect upon the mentality of the subject and the victims were usually people of good mental balance and brain power. He was wise enough to read my unspoken fears and I mention this here for the benefit of other sufferers. He then sent me to bed for six months and told me to sew all the time. So I went up to Castramont to my Aunt Margaret, back to the old bedroom that I had occupied for so many years and proceeded to make my sister an outfit of underwear - ruffled petticoats all feather-stitched and hemstitched and lace edged; panties with ruffles (which we never mentioned those days) and corset-covers, never seen today and as obsolete as the Dodo. One thing I will say for myself, I was a beautiful needlewoman. Each day I got up and went for walks upon the moors and each week saw me getting slightly better. Every few days brought me letters from Walter Evans from whom I had heard quite regularly ever since he had gone to America. [100]