“No thank you, child, I would rather not. He could do me no good, and would probably make me feel uncomfortable: say that my illness was a judgment for my sins, or something equally horrid.” “Oh, I don’t think he would,” the girl rejoined diffidently. “Besides, even if he did make you feel uncomfortable at first, he would not leave you without telling you the ‘comfortable words,’ and making you happy in the knowledge of them, you know.” But Mrs. Neville Williams would not be persuaded, and with a look of seriousness on her expressive face, Celia left. “Mrs. Williams seems better to-day, does she not?” she said to the maid who was in attendance at the halldoor. “What did Sir Dighton Forbes say when he called this morning?” “He didn’t say nothing, miss, except that he is sending an ’orspital nurse to-morrow, and she is to stay over the operation. But we haven’t much hope, miss. The picture of the mistress that hangs in her bedroom tumbled down and smashed last night; and that’s a bad sign as I know for a fact; for when my young man’s mother took ill and died of the influenza--which will be two years come Christmas--her photograph, as was a hornament to the parlour, fell off the mantelshelf and----” But the remaining words of the sentence were lost; for the elevator arrived; and with a hurried apology, Celia descended. CHAPTER XVII BOTH SIDES OF THE CURTAIN The orchestra had just struck up the overture to the “Voice of the Charmer,” when two young men entered the auditorium and took their places in the stalls. Their faces contrasted strongly with their immaculate shirt-fronts, for they were bronzed, even weather-beaten; and their general appearance gave one the impression that they had recently returned from some distant clime. The one clean-shaven and square-shouldered, was Dr. Geoffrey Milnes; the other--shorter and of slighter build--Dick Stannard, the squire’s son. These two, although they had not seen much of each other when at home, had become fast friends out in Australia. Stannard was rollicking and bright, with a fresh breezy manner which acted as a kind of tonic on Geoffrey’s more serious disposition. He had taken a fancy to Milnes, and their mutual home-connections served to form a link between them. When the young doctor had been utterly disheartened by the absolute failure of his research in connection with tuberculosis, it was Stannard who saved him from morbidly dwelling on his defeat, and insisted on his taking an active part in the social life of Sydney. He took upon himself the part of mentor, and ruled Geoffrey with a rod of iron; not, however, that the advice he gave was in any way severe. His deep conviction was that it was the duty of every one to endeavour to obtain the maximum of enjoyment with the minimum of discomfort; and although he could not quite convert his friend to his way of thinking, he did succeed in capturing his medical tomes and papers, thus bringing his work to an abrupt standstill.