His aunt, in the passage, and his mother, who had overheard in the dining-room, instantly and correctly solved the problem by saying to themselves that Henry's tone was a Symptom. They had both been collecting symptoms for four days. His mother had first discovered that he had a cold; Aunt Annie went further and found that it was a feverish cold. Aunt Annie saw that his eyes were running; his mother wormed out of him that his throat tickled and his mouth was sore. When Aunt Annie asked him if his eyes ached as well as ran, he could not deny it. On the third day, at breakfast, he shivered, and the two ladies perceived simultaneously the existence of a peculiar rash behind Henry's ears. On the morning of the fourth day Aunt Annie, up early, scored one over her sister by noticing the same rash at the roots of his still curly hair. It was the second rash, together with Henry's emphatic and positive statement that he was perfectly well, which had finally urged his relatives to a desperate step--a step involving intrigue and prevarication. And to justify this step had come the crowning symptom of peevishness--peevishness in Henry! It wanted only that! 'I've asked Dr. Dancer to call in to-night,' said Aunt Annie casually, while Henry was assuming his toasted crimson carpet slippers. Mrs. Knight was brewing tea in the kitchen. 'What for?' Henry demanded quickly, and as if defensively. Then he added: 'Is mother wrong again?' Mrs. Knight had a recurrent 'complaint.' 'Well,' said Aunt Annie darkly, 'I thought it would be as well to be on the safe side....' 'Certainly,' said Henry. This was Aunt Annie's neat contribution to the necessary prevarication. They had tea and ham-and-eggs, the latter specially chosen because it was a dish that Henry doted upon. However, he ate but little. 'You're overtired, dear,' his mother ventured. 'Overtired or not, mater,' said Henry with a touch of irony, 'I must do some work to-night. Sir George has asked me to----' 'My dear love,' Mrs. Knight cried out, moved, 'you've no right----' But Aunt Annie quelled the impulsive creature with a glance full of meaning. 'Sir George what?' she asked, politely interested. 'The governor has asked me to look through his Christmas appeal for the Clerks' Society, and to suggest any alterations that occur to me.' It became apparent to the ladies, for the thousand and first time, that Sir George would be helpless without Henry, utterly helpless. After tea the table was cleared, and Henry opened his bag and rustled papers, and the ladies knitted and sewed with extraordinary precautions to maintain the silence which was the necessary environment of Henry's labours. And in the calm and sane domestic interior, under the mild ray of the evening lamp, the sole sounds were Henry's dry, hacking cough and the cornet-like blasts of his nose into his cambric handkerchief. 'I think I'll do no more to-night,' he said at length, yawning. 'That's right, dear,' his mother ejaculated.