late a handful of
her own glory of gold and her friend's rich black, in one hand. "I know
which _I_ like best," said Irene. And Gwen laughed her musical laugh
that filled the place. "No head of hair is a prophet in its own
country," said she.

Old Maisie was trying to speak, but her voice had gone low with fatigue.
"Phoebe and I," she was saying, "long ago, when we were girls.... It was
a trick, you know, a game ... we would mix our hair like that, and make
little Jacky Wetherall guess whose hair he had hold of. When he guessed
right he had sugar. He was three. His mother used to lend him to us when
she went out to scrub, and he never cried...." She went on like this,
dwelling on scraps of her girlhood, for some time; then her voice went
very faint to say:--"Phoebe was there then. Phoebe is back
now--somehow--how is it?" Gwen saw she had talked enough, and took Irene
away; and then Ruth Thrale went to sit with her mother.

* * * * *

Dr. Nash, who arrived during their absence, had been greeted by Adrian
after his "first appearance as a corpse," last summer. He would have
known the doctor's voice anywhere. "You never _were_ a corpse," said
that gentleman. To which Mr. Torrens replied:--"You _thought_ I was a
corpse, doctor, you know you did!"

Dr. Nash, being unable to deny it, shifted the responsibility. "Well,"
said he, "Sir Coupland thought so too. The fact is, we had quite given
you up. When he came out and said to me:--'Come back. I want you to see
something,' I said to him:--'Is that why the dog barked?' Because your
dog had given a sudden queer sort of a bark. And he said to me:--'It
isn't only the dog. It's Lady Gwen Rivers.'"

"What did he mean by that?" said Gwen.

"He meant that your ladyship's strong impression that the body....
Excuse my referring to you, Mr. Torrens, as...."

"As 'the body'? Not at all! I mean, don't apologize."

"The--a--subject, say, still retained vitality. No doubt we _might_ have
found out--probably _should_...."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Gwen remorselessly. "You would have buried
him alive if it hadn't been for me. You doctors are the most careless,
casual creatures. It was me and the dog--so now Mr. Torrens knows what
he has to be thankful for!"

"Well--as a matter of fact, it was the strong impression of your
ladyship that did the job. We doctors are, as your ladyship says, an
incautious, irresponsible lot. I hope you found Mrs. Prichard