Dr. Spink sat in his comfortable dining room with his after-dinner glass of wine before him. The snow was falling and the rain beating against the windows, but the Doctor had finished his work, and feared only that some sudden call would compel him to face the fury of the weather again. A few months back he would have greeted any summons, however unreasonable the hour, and thought a new patient well bought at the price of a spoiled evening. But of late the world had smiled upon him, the hill which had looked so steep was proving easy to climb, and he was already considering whether he should not take a partner, to relieve him of the more irksome parts of his duty. He pulled his neatly trimmed whisker and caressed his smooth-shaven chin, as he reflected how the folly of that mad fellow, Roberts, had turned to his advantage. No man could say that he had deviated an inch from professional propriety, or pressed his advantage the least unfairly. He had merely persevered on the lines he laid down for himself on his first arrival. The success, which astonished even himself, had come to him, partly no doubt, because merit must make its way, but mainly because his rival had willfully flung away his chances, preferring--and to Dr. Spink it seemed a preference almost insane--to speak his mind, whatever it might be, rather than, like a wise man, hold his tongue and fill his pockets. So Roberts had willed, and hence the Vicarage, the Grange, and many other houses now knew his footstep no more, and Spink filled his place. As he pondered on this, Dr. Spink spared a pang of pity for his beaten competitor, wondering what in the world the man meant to live upon. The door bell rang. He heard it with a sigh--the half-pleased, half-weary, resigned sigh that a man utters when fortune gives him no rest in getting gain. A moment later he was on his way to the surgery to see a lady who would not send in her name or business. He recognized Ethel Roberts with surprise, when she raised her veil. They had known one another to bow to, but he could not imagine what brought her to his surgery. "Mrs. Roberts! Is there anything----" "Oh, Dr. Spink, you must forgive me for coming. I am in great trouble, and I thought you might help me." "Pray sit down. Is anyone ill--your little boy?" "No, he's not ill. It's--it's about my husband." "I hope Mr. Roberts is not ill?" "I don't know," she said nervously. "That's what I want to ask you. Have you seen him lately?" "No, not very; I passed him in the street the other day." "He's gone to London, suddenly, I don't know why. Oh, he's been so strange lately!" "I thought he looked worried. Tell me about it," said Dr. Spink, moved now with genuine pity for the pale haggard face before him. "Ever since--but you mustn't tell I came to you--or spoke to anybody, I mean--will you?" He reassured her, and she continued: