“That’s the most puzzling question you could ask. How is a poor medical man, snatching his bit of knowledge as he can find it, to say yea or nay? Oh yes, they have to do with it; everything has to do with it either as cause or effect? If it were not perhaps for the temper, there would be less danger with the heart; and if it were not for the weak heart, there would be less temper. Do ye see? Body and soul are so jumbled together, it is ill to tell which is which. But between them the chances grow less and less. And you will see, by to-night’s experience, it’s not very easy to put on the drag.” “And yet Mrs. Trevanion is nursing him, you say, as if nothing had happened.” The doctor gave a strange laugh. “A sick man is a queer study,” he said, “and especially an excitable person with no self-control and all nerves and temper, like--if you will excuse me for saying so--your brother. Now that he needs her he is very capable of putting all this behind him. He will just ignore it, and cast himself upon her for everything, till he thinks he can do without her again. Ah! it is quite a wonderful mystery, the mind of a sick and selfish man.” “I was thinking rather of her,” said John Trevanion. “Oh! her?” said the doctor, waving his hand; “that’s simple. There’s nothing complicated in that. She is the first to accept that grand reason as conclusive, just that he has need of her. There’s a wonderful philosophy in some women. When they come to a certain pitch they will bear anything. And she is one of that kind. She will put it out of her mind as I would put a smouldering bombshell out of this hall. At least,” said the doctor, with that laugh which was so inappropriate, “I hope I would do it, I hope I would not just run away. The thing with women is that they cannot run away.” “These are strange subjects to discuss with--pardon me--a stranger; but you are not a stranger--they can have no secrets from you. Doctor, tell me, is the scene to-night a usual one? Was there nothing particular in it?” John Trevanion fixed very serious eyes--eyes that held the person they looked on fast, and would permit no escape--on the doctor’s face. The other shifted about uneasily from one foot to the other, and did his utmost to avoid that penetrating look. “Oh, usual enough, usual enough; but there might be certain special circumstances,” he said. “You mean that Mrs. Trevanion--” “Well, if you will take my opinion, she had probably been to see the coachman’s wife, who is far from well, poor body; I should say that was it. It is across a bit of the park, far enough to account for everything.” “But why then not give so simple a reason?” “Ah! there you beat me; how can I tell? The way in which a thing presents itself to a woman’s mind is not like what would occur to you and me.” “Is the coachman’s wife so great a favorite? Has she been ill long, and is it necessary to go to see her every night?”