All signs of "authority" had gone from him now. But wind and voice alike were ineffectual. Apparently it was easier to hypnotise than to do the other thing. In his trouble Mr. Pownceby told himself that the writer of that pamphlet was--well, untrustworthy. Or else something had gone wrong in the working. But what could it be? He looked at his watch. "Half-past twelve! I shall have her husband here directly. I imagine that he will make some observations if he finds his wife like this." Such a contingency was only to be expected. When a man, after long absence from his wife, returns to find a stranger experimenting on her, and she in a "hypnotic" condition, from which the stranger cannot release her, his first feelings towards that stranger are not, in civilised countries, invariably friendly. Mr. Pownceby, when he had blown the "cold wind" all out of him, arrived at a resolution. "I will tell Doris. I must get her to help me. It is quite certain that, whatever happens, I mustn't let that man come and find me alone with his wife." It was only the dread of such a catastrophe that brought him to the "sticking-point" of his resolution. Miss Haseltine--christened Doris--was Mr. Pownceby's betrothed. She also was wintering in the hotel with her mamma. Mr. Pownceby was aware, even painfully aware, that the young lady's feelings towards Mrs. Pratt were not of the warmest possible kind. He was equally conscious that her impression was that his feelings were, if anything, _too_ warm. He would rather anything had happened, almost, than that he should have been reduced to the necessity of acquainting Miss Haseltine with the situation he was in. But it was certainly impossible for him to allow the returning husband to come in and find him there, alone with his wife, and she apparently in a chronic hypnotic condition. So he went in search of the young lady. Of course he found her where he would have least wished to find her--in the drawing-room with the ladies. He had to call her out, and at first she wouldn't come. But as it would have been impossible for him to tell his tale in the presence of a dozen sharp-eared and sharp-tongued women, he protested that there was something of the utmost importance which he must say to her alone. "Well, what is it?" she asked, directly he had got her outside the door. He perceived that she was not in one of her sentimental moods. Perhaps something in his manner had roused her suspicions. "Mrs. Pratt has fainted." "Indeed? What has that to do with me? Let her faint. She looks to me as though she were the sort of person who could faint at pleasure." "Doris, for goodness' sake hear me out; I want your help. It's through me she's fainted." "Pray what do you mean?"