Take the tea and wait a bit," is the doctor's advice.
For Miss Sally is transmitting a cup of tea with studied equilibrium.
He receives it absently, leaving it on the table.

"I do not know if you will know what I mean," he says, "but I have
a sort of feeling of--of being frightened; for I have been trying to
remember things, and I find I can remember almost nothing. Perhaps
I should say I cannot remember _at all_--can't do any recollecting,
if you understand." Every one can understand--at least, each says so.
Sally goes on, half _sotto voce_: "You can recollect your own name,
I suppose?" She speaks half-way between soliloquy and dialogue. The
doctor throws in counsel, aside, for precaution.

"You'll only make matters worse, like that. Better leave him quite
alone."

But the man's hearing doesn't seem to have suffered, for he catches
the remark about his name.

"I can't tell," he says. "I am not so sure. Of course, I can't have
forgotten my own name, because that's impossible. I will tell it you
in a minute.... Oh dear!..."

The young doctor seemed to disapprove highly of these efforts, and to
wish to change the conversation. "Let it alone now," said he. "Only
for a little. Would you kindly allow me to see your arm again?"

"Let him drink his tea first." This is from Miss Sally, the
tea-priestess. "Another cup?" But no; he won't take another cup,
thanks.

"Now let's have the coat off, and get another look at the arm; never
mind apologizing." But the patient had not contemplated apology. It
was the stiffness made him slow. However, he got his coat off, and
drew the blue shirt off his left arm. He had a fine hand and arm, but
the hand hung inanimate, and the fingers looked scorched. Dr. Vereker
began feeling the arm at intervals all the way up, and asking each
time questions about the degree of sensibility.

"I couldn't say whether it's normal or not up there." So the patient
testified. And Mrs. Nightingale, who was watching the examination
intently, suggested trying the other arm in the same place for
comparison.

"You didn't see the other arm at the station, doctor?" she said.

"Didn't I?"

"I was asking."

"Well, no. Now I come to think of it, I don't think I did. We'll have
a look now, anyhow."

"_You're_ a nice doctor!" This is from Miss Sally; a little
confidential fling at the profession. She is no respecter of persons.
Her mother would, no doubt, check her--a pert little monkey!--only she
is abs