Moreover, nothing could be more commonplace than his ordinary conversation. A few truisms, parliamentary interjections, many technical references. His action was as that of one feeling a pulse, and he was always in a hurry to turn away and leave the room. “Won’t you have a glass of wine, Mr Bromley?” asked the doctor, hospitably. “Thanks, I am going to dine later.” “Commodeque, Erasistratus dixit, sæpe, interiore parte humorem non requirente, os et fauces requirere.” Dr Leadbitter lost no time in getting into the carriage. The doctor overcame the gourmet, and, though at dinner, the voice of duty and of friendship prevailed. “My dear doctor,” said Bromley, “Miss Constance has fallen very ill. She fell to the ground at Lady Ilminster’s breakfast. She was insensible all the way home. I suppose they have put her to bed, for I drove off at once for you.” “Hear, hear!” responded the doctor. “Now, doctor, between ourselves, I think Miss Constance has something on her mind.” “Hear, hear! Eros, I suppose. Soon cured.” “Something more than that.” “Nothing cryptogamic, I hope?” “I have a moral certainty of the cause, but no legal evidence yet. If you will accept my assurance without seeking any corroboration, I will tell you my surmises—to me certainties—which, perhaps, may guide you in your treatment.” “HEAR, HEAR!” “My impression is that Lady Coxe and Miss Constance Coxe are deeply in debt to Madame Mélanie the dressmaker. They are afraid to own it to Sir Jehoshaphat. Count Rabelais has got possession of the secret, and holds it _in terrorem_ over Constance. “He has conciliated the friendship and advocacy of Lady Coxe—perhaps by the same means; and he has extorted from Constance a promise of marriage. Now, what would you advise? “The whole thing should be told to Sir Jehoshaphat. Yet, I think, he would never forgive Lady Coxe, whatever treatment he might pursue towards his daughter. I have known him from boyhood. His temperament is bilious and nervous. About money matters, though more than liberal, he is obdurate.” “At any rate, it would be better avoided, for the present at least.” “Hear, hear!” “I should think the woman Mélanie might be frightened for having inveigled a girl under age.” “Hear, hear! But suppose Lady Coxe knew of her daughter’s debts?” “But perhaps she does not. As soon as I can get my surmises into shape, I will, with your permission, consult you.” “Hear, hear! Come to me directly you have any news—day or night. Meanwhile, I will pursue the soothing system—calming draughts. I shall tell Lady Coxe at once that I know the whole story. That will keep her quiet.” By this time the carriage had again arrived in Grosvenor Square. “How is Miss Constance?” “Very bad, sir.” “Hear, hear!” murmured the doctor, mournfully. Constance was in a high fever. Bromley found a letter on his table. He opened it. It was but a few lines.