"Certainly not often at this. He calls on Lady Jenkins occasionally, and she likes it. _I_ don't encourage him. He may be a brave soldier, and a man of wealth and family, and everything else that's desirable; but he is no especial favourite of mine." "Well, Sam Jenkins has an idea that he would like to get making love to Mina. Sam was laughing about it in the surgery last night with Johnny Ludlow, and I happened to overhear him. Sam thinks they meet here, as well as next door: and you heard Mina say just now that she was singing to him here yesterday afternoon. Stay, my dear lady, don't be put out. I am sure _you_ have thought it no harm, have been innocent of all suspicion of it. Mistaken, you tell me? Well, it may be I am. Mina is but a child, as you observe, and--and perhaps Sam was only jesting. How is our patient to-day?" "Pretty well. Just a little drowsy." "In bed, or up?" "Oh, up." "Will you tell her I am here?" Madame St. Vincent, her plumage somewhat ruffled, betook herself to the floor above, Mr. Tamlyn following. Lady Jenkins, in a loose gown of blue quilted silk and a cap with yellow roses in it, sat at the window, nodding. "Well," said he, sitting down by her and taking her hand, "and how do you feel to-day?" She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Better, she thought: oh yes, certainly better. "You are sleepy." "Rather so. Getting up tired me." "Are you not going for a drive to-day? It would do you good." "I don't know. Ask Patty. Patty, are we going out to-day?" The utter helplessness of mind and body which appeared to be upon her as she thus appealed to another, Mr. Tamlyn had rarely seen equalled. Even while listening to Madame St. Vincent's answer--that they would go if she felt strong enough--her heavy eyelids closed again. In a minute or two she was in a sound sleep. Tamlyn threw caution and Dr. Knox's injunction to the winds, and spoke on the moment's impulse to Madame St. Vincent. "You see," he observed, pointing to the sleeping face. "She is only dozing off again." "_Only!_ My dear, good lady, this perpetual, stupid, lethargic sleepiness is not natural. You are young, perhaps inexperienced, or you would know it to be not so." "I scarcely think it altogether unnatural," softly dissented madame, with deprecation. "She has really been very poorly." "But not sufficiently so to induce this helplessness. It has been upon her for months, and is gaining ground." "She is seventy years of age, remember." "I know that. But people far older than that are not as she is without some cause: either of natural illness, or--or--something else. Step here a minute, my dear." Old Tamlyn walked rapidly to the other window, and stood there talking in low tones, his eyes fixed on Madame St. Vincent, his hand, in his eagerness, touching her shoulder. "Knox thinks, and has imparted his opinion to me--ay, and his doubts also--that something is being given to her."