erator, warned
that his visitor was a bold and skilful surgeon, whose reputation in
England was already considerable, had sought to dazzle him by feats that
savoured almost of legerdemain. Though the hint of charlatanry in the
Frenchman's methods had not escaped Arthur Burdon's shrewd eyes, the
audacious sureness of his hand had excited his enthusiasm. During
luncheon he talked of nothing else, and Dr Porhoet, drawing upon his
memory, recounted the more extraordinary operations that he had witnessed
in Egypt.

He had known Arthur Burdon ever since he was born, and indeed had missed
being present at his birth only because the Khedive Ismail had summoned
him unexpectedly to Cairo. But the Levantine merchant who was Arthur's
father had been his most intimate friend, and it was with singular
pleasure that Dr Porhoet saw the young man, on his advice, enter his
own profession and achieve a distinction which himself had never won.

Though too much interested in the characters of the persons whom chance
threw in his path to have much ambition on his own behalf, it pleased him
to see it in others. He observed with satisfaction the pride which Arthur
took in his calling and the determination, backed by his confidence and
talent, to become a master of his art. Dr Porhoet knew that a diversity
of interests, though it adds charm to a man's personality, tends to
weaken him. To excel one's fellows it is needful to be circumscribed.
He did not regret, therefore, that Arthur in many ways was narrow.
Letters and the arts meant little to him. Nor would he trouble himself
with the graceful trivialities which make a man a good talker. In mixed
company he was content to listen silently to others, and only something
very definite to say could tempt him to join in the general conversation.
He worked very hard, operating, dissecting, or lecturing at his hospital,
and took pains to read every word, not only in English, but in French and
German, which was published concerning his profession. Whenever he could
snatch a free day he spent it on the golf-links of Sunningdale, for he
was an eager and a fine player.

But at the operating-table Arthur was different. He was no longer the
awkward man of social intercourse, who was sufficiently conscious of his
limitations not to talk of what he did not understand, and sincere enough
not to express admiration for what he did not like. Then, on the other
hand, a singular exhilaration filled him; he was co