"Thank you. The explanation is as follows--as follows. A friend of mine reading in the evening papers an account of your application at the Bishop Street Police Court this morning--pray accept my sympathy, my dear madam, my sym-pathy--and of the evident illness of the little girl who accompanied you, has asked me to call and see if I can do anything for you--anything for you." His habit of repeating his words, and of occasionally splitting them into accented syllables, seemed to fit in with his gentle voice and his generally benevolent air. "May I inquire the name of your kind friend?" asked Mrs. Death. "Certainly--cer-tainly," replied Dr. Vinsen. "It is Dr. Pye, of Shore Street." "The scientist," said Dick. "The scientist," said Dr. Vinsen. "A man of science and a man of heart. The two things are not incompatible--not incom-patible. He asked me also to ascertain whether you have heard anything of your husband." "I have heard nothing of him, sir," said Mrs. Death, with a sob in her throat. "Sad, sad, sad! But have hope, my dear madam. There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow, and you may depend upon it that this special providence is watching over you, and will bring your husband back--your husband back." He turned to Dick. "Related to the family, I presume?" "No," said Dick, "I am here simply as a friend, to assist Mrs. Death in her search for her husband." "A very worthy endeavour. Would it be considered impertinent if I inquired the name of the gentleman who evinces so deep an interest in this very distressing matter?" "My name is Dick Remington. I've grown so accustomed to Dick that I should hardly know myself as Richard." Dr. Vinsen's eyes gave faint indications of amusement--eyes so sleepy could do no more than that--and he passed his hands over and over each other, as though, like Miss Kilmansegg's father, he was washing them with invisible soap in imperceptible water. At this point Gracie, who had been trying with all her might and main to hold herself in, burst into a furious fit of coughing. "Dear, dear, dear!" said Dr. Vinsen. "Let us see what we can do for you, my child." Taking a stethoscope out of his hat he proceeded to make an examination of Gracie's lungs and chest, a proceeding which Gracie viewed with indifference and the other children with awe. In the course of his examination he made such comments, under his breath, as-- "Dear, dear, dear! Nothing but skin and bone--but skin _and_ bone! Sad, very sad! Neglected another week the result would have been--but I will not distress you. Wrap yourself up, child. My dear madam, you must keep little Gracie--sweet name--in bed for a few days. Doubtless you have a bronchitis kettle." "No, sir," said Mrs. Death, with a forlorn look. "Don't you worry, mother," protested Gracie. "I don't want any kettles. What's the use of kettles? _I'm_ all right, I am."