"Ever since his quarrel with Mr. Bannister--you know about it?--there is something the matter with him. He is moody, and absent-minded, and--and hasty, and he settles to nothing. And now he is gone off like this." "Come, Mrs. Roberts, you must compose yourself. I suppose he has let these politics worry him." "He seems to care nothing for--for his home or the baby, you know; he does nothing but read, or wander up and down the room." "It sounds as if he wanted a rest and a change. You say he has gone away?" "Yes; but on business, I think." "I'm afraid I can't tell you much, unless he calls me in and lets me have a look at him." "He'll never do that!" she exclaimed, before she could stop herself. Dr. Spink took no notice of her outburst. "If he comes back no better, send me a line, Mrs. Roberts, and we'll see. And mind you let me know if you or the baby want any advice." "You're very kind, Dr. Spink. I--I'm sorry James is so----" "Oh, that's a symptom. If he gets right, he won't be like that. Your jacket's too thin for such a night. Let me send you home in the brougham." Ethel refused the offer, and started on her return, leaving Dr. Spink shaking a thoughtful head in the surgery doorway. "It really looks," he said, "as if he was a bit queer. But what can I do? Poor little woman!" And, not being able to do anything, he went back and finished his glass of port. Then, for his dinner had been postponed till late by business, and it was half-past ten, he went to bed. Ethel beat her way down the High Street against the wind and snow, shutting her eyes in face of the blinding shower, and pushing on with all her speed to rejoin her baby, whom she had left alone. When, wet and weary, she reached her door, to her surprise she saw a man waiting there. For a moment she joyously thought it was her husband, but as the man came forward to meet her, she recognized Philip Hume. "Out on such a night, Mrs. Roberts!" She murmured an excuse, and he went on: "Is the Doctor in? I came to look him up." "No, he's away in London, Mr. Hume." "In London? What for?" "I don't know." "May I come in for a moment?" asked Philip, who had been looking at her closely. "If you like," she answered in some surprise. "I'm afraid there's no fire." Philip had followed her in and seen the grate in the sitting room with no fire lighted. "No fire?" he exclaimed. "There is one in my room where baby is," she explained. "There ought to be one here too," said he. "You're looking ill." "Oh, I'm not ill, Mr. Hume--I'm not indeed." Philip had come on an errand. There are uses even in gossips, and he had had a talk with his friend the Mayor that day. "Where are the coals?" he asked. "There are some in the scuttle," she said. He looked and found a few small pieces. The fire was laid with a few more. Philip lit them and threw on all the rest. Then he went to the door, and shouted: "Wilson!"