“If I had trouble with my aural ducts I should send for Durand, or,” he continued, in the tone of one who continues to illustrate a little pompously, “if my greater lymphatics were giving me trouble, Pigge is the first name that would suggest itself.” Dr. Bowker’s enthusiasm knew no bounds. “You are quite right, Sir Charles,” he said, “you are quite right.” He almost took the Baronet’s hand in the warmth of his agreement. “If more men--I will not say of your distinction and position, but if more people--er--of what I may call the--er--directing brain of the nation, were of your opinion, it would be a good day for Medicine.” “Now a man like Poole,” went on Charles Repton nonchalantly, “what does he know, what _can_ he know, about any particular trouble? And mind you, an educated man always knows in more or less general terms what his particular trouble is. Why Poole--well....” Here Sir Charles ended with a pitying little smile. “At any rate,” said Dr. Bowker, bursting with assent, “I understand the old trouble has not returned. And if it had, as you very well said, it would be Felton’s job rather than mine. Of course it has a nervous aspect; everything has, but every specialist has his own field.” And Dr. Bowker went out, communing with himself and deciding that the foolish anxiety of wives might be an excellent thing for the profession, but was hardly fair upon the purses of their husbands. “Well, Sir Anthony?” said Dr. Bowker as he entered the ground-floor room. “Well, Dr. Bowker?” said Sir Anthony with a responsive smile. “I really don’t see why they sent for us,” said Dr. Bowker. “I thoroughly agree,” said Sir Anthony Poole. “There’s nothing more to be done, I think?” said Dr. Bowker. “Nothing,” said Sir Anthony Poole. “Shall we speak to Lady Repton?” said Dr. Bowker. “We’ll write her,” said Sir Anthony Poole. They took leave of Lady Repton in a solemn and sympathetic manner, assuring her that it was better to give their impression in writing, and that she should receive it in the course of that evening. And having so fulfilled their mission, these two eminent men went off together with a better feeling between them than either would have thought possible an hour before. “He is a singularly intelligent man,” said Sir Anthony Poole as they parted at the door of Dr. Bowker’s Club, “a singularly intelligent man. Of course one would have expected it from his position, but I did not know until to-day how really remarkably intelligent and cultivated he was.” “I thoroughly agree with you,” said Dr. Bowker, taking his leave, “he is what I call....” He sought a moment for a word.... “He is what I call a really cultivated and intelligent man.”