No--stop. He would carry her some flowers. It would take but a minute. She thought so much of such little attentions. The driver reined up sharply at the corner florist's; it was Avery's own florist, but the salesman was a stranger, a newcomer. He brought a dozen inferior tea-roses out with an apology. "Sorry, sir, but they are all we have left. We 've been sending everything to Mr. Avery's." Avery stared at the man stupidly. Was Jean entertaining? Some ladies' lunch? Then she was much better. Or was she so ill that people were sending flowers, as people do, for lack of any better way of expressing a useless sympathy? He felt his hands and feet turn as cold as the seas of Cape Cod. "Drive slower," he said. But the fellow did not hear him, and the hack rushed on. At the passenger's door it stopped with a lurch. Avery got out slowly. The house looked much as usual, except that a shade in Jean's bedroom was drawn. It was just the hour when she sometimes tried to sleep after an ill night. The husband trod softly up the long steps. He felt for his latch-key, but remembered that he had never seen it since he went overboard. He turned to ring the bell. As he did so something touched his hand disagreeably; a gust of November wind twisted it around and around his wrist. Avery threw the thing off with a cry of horror. He had leaned up heavily against the door, and when Molly opened it suddenly, he well-nigh fell into the house. "Oh, sir!" said Molly. She had been crying, and looked worn. He stood with his tea-roses in his hand staring at her; he did not speak. He heard the baby crying in the nursery, and Pink's little feet trotting about somewhere. The house was heavy with flowers,--roses, violets, tuberoses,--a sickening mixture of scents. He tried several times to speak, but his dry throat refused. "What's happened?" he managed to demand at last, fiercely, as if that would help anything. "The doctor's here. He 'll tell you, sir," said Molly. She did not look him in the eye, but went softly and knocked at the library door. Avery started to go upstairs. "Oh, Mr. Avery," cried Molly, "don't you do that; don't you, sir!" Then Dr. Thorne stepped out of the library. "Wait a minute, Avery," he said, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone, which at once restored Avery's composure. "Just come in here before you go up, will you?" Marshall Avery obeyed. He stepped into the library. And Dr. Thorne shut the door. The two men regarded each other for a moment in surcharged silence. The distracted husband stood trembling pitiably. He passed his left hand over his eyes, then pushed it over his right wrist several times, as if he were pushing away an obstruction. "I don't seem to be quite right in the head, Thorne," he pleaded. "I thought there was--something on the doorbell.... I 've been shipwrecked. I 'm not--just myself.... Why don't you speak to me? _Doctor_! _Doctor_!"