to lose, an uncommon
affection. He loved Charles Verity; while, from the worldly standpoint,
his dealings with The Hard meant very much to him--made for glory, a
feather in his cap visible to all and envied by many. Minus the fine
flourish of it his position sank to obscurity. As a whist-playing,
golf-playing, club-haunting, Anglo-Indian ex-civil surgeon--and Irishman
at that--living in lodgings at Stourmouth, he commanded meagre
consideration. But as chosen medical-attendant and, in some sort,
retainer of Sir Charles Verity he ranked. The county came within his
purview. Thanks to this connection with The Hard he, on occasion, rubbed
shoulders with the locally great. Hence genuine grief for his friend was
black-bordered by the prospect of impending social and mundane loss. The
future frowned on him, view it in what terms he might. To use his own
unspoken phrase, he felt "in hellishly low water."

One point in particular just now worried him. Thus, as fish, eggs,
porridge, hot cakes, honey, and jam disappeared in succession, he opened
himself to Damaris and Carteret. A difficult subject, namely that of a
second opinion.--Let no thought of any wounding of his susceptibilities
operate against the calling in of such. He was ready and willing to meet
any fellow practitioner they might select--a Harley Street big-wig, or
Dr. Maskall, of Harchester, whose advice in respect of cardiac trouble
was wide sought.

He had, however, but just launched the question when Hordle entered and,
walking to the head of the table, addressed Damaris.

"Sir Charles desires me to say he will be glad to see you, miss, when you
are at liberty," he told her in muffled accents.

She sprang up, to pause an instant, irresolute, glancing wide-eyed
at Carteret.

He had risen too. Coming round the corner of the table, he drew back her
chair, put his hand under her elbow, went with her to the door.

"There is nothing to dread, dearest witch," he gently and quietly said.
"Have confidence in yourself. God keep you--and him.--Now you are quite
ready? That's right.--Well, then go."

Carteret waited, looking after her until, crossing the hall followed by
Hordle, she passed along the corridor out of sight. Silent, preoccupied,
he closed the door and took a turn the length of the room before resuming
his place at the opposite side of the table to McCabe, facing the light.

The doctor, who had ceased eating and half risen to his feet at the
commencement o