"Doctor," he said, "d'you believe that talents can die in us while we ourselves live?" "That's a strange question." "It's waiting an answer." "Well, my answer is, No; not wholly, unless through the approach of old age, or the development of madness." "I'm neither old nor mad." Levillier and Julian both looked at Valentine with some amazement. "Are you talking about yourself?" the doctor asked. "Certainly." "Why? What talent is dead in you?" "My talent for music. Do you know that for the last few days I've been able neither to sing nor play?" "Val, you're joking," exclaimed Julian. "I am certainly not," he answered, and quite gravely. "I am simply stating a fact." Doctor Levillier seemed unable to appreciate that he was speaking seriously. "I have come all this way to hear you sing," he said. "I have never asked you in vain yet." "Is it my fault if you ask me in vain now?" Valentine looked him in the face and spoke with a complete sincerity. The doctor returned the glance, as he sometimes returned the glance of a patient, very directly, with a clear and simple gravity. Having done this he felt completely puzzled. "The talent for music has died in you?" he asked. "Entirely. I can do nothing with my piano. I have even locked it." As he spoke he went over to it and pulled at the lid to show them that he was speaking the truth. "Where's the key?" asked the doctor. "Here," said Valentine, producing it from his pocket. "Give it to me," said the doctor. Valentine did so and the doctor quietly opened the piano, drew up the music-stool, and signed to Valentine to sit down. "If you mean what you say, the explanation must simply be that you are suffering from some form of hysteria," he said, rather authoritatively. "Now sing me something. No; I won't let you off." Valentine, sitting on the stool, extended his hands and laid the tips of his long fingers upon the keys, but without sounding them. "You insist on my trying to sing?" he asked. "I do." "I warn you, doctor, you will be sorry if I do. My voice is quite out of order." "No matter." "Go on, Val," cried Julian, from his arm-chair. "Anybody would think you were a young lady." Valentine bent his head, with a quick gesture of abnegation. "As you will," he said.