She did not leave the apartment that day, but spent most of the time with her niece, whose indisposition was promptly diagnosed as an acute attack of indigestion by the learned and complacent physician, who dosed her and went his way. He ordered her to remain in bed; he would run in and see her in the morning. If anything, ah!--a--alarming turned up, he murmured to Mrs. Carstairs, she was to call him at once. Not likely, of course, said he, nothing to be apprehensive about, but--well, you never can tell. Resistance not yet fully restored,--and, “after all, as I've said all along, Mrs. Carstairs, one's own resistance is the best chemistry going, and one has to fill his own prescription when it comes to that sort of thing, don't you know.” Being a very fashionable doctor he gave her pyromedan to bring down the temperature in a hurry, and codeine to quiet the pain. Davenport Carstairs seldom reached his home before six or half-past. It was his custom,--if business happened to be indulgent,--to drop in at his favourite club about four in the afternoon. On this afternoon, however, he drove straight home from the office. The clock in the hall was striking four as he entered the apartment. The afternoon newspapers were under his arm,--four or five of them. “Has Mrs. Carstairs come in, Hollowell?” he asked. “Mrs. Carstairs did not go out today, sir. Miss Hansbury is ill.” Ordinarily Carstairs would have been disturbed by this information. He had been gravely worried over his niece's condition. Hollowell's supplementary statement, however, appeared to have fallen on deaf ears. “Say that I'm home, Hollowell, and in my room.” “Very good, sir. Is there anything I can do, sir?” “Do? What do you mean?” “I thought perhaps you might be ill, sir. I--” “Not at all, not at all,” somewhat irascibly. “Ask Mrs. Carstairs to come to my room--Wait! Have you had any news here today?” “No, sir,--nothink as I am aware of, sir.” “No--er--commotion?” “I think not, sir. It isn't serious. Sort of--ah--what you might call stomach--ah--although cook says it can't have been anything she ate last--” “_By_ the way, what made you think I was ill?” “Well,--since you ask, sir,--you do look a bit seedy, sir,--that is to say pale and--” “I wish to see Mrs. Carstairs alone. Please avoid mentioning my return in Miss Hansbury's presence.” He went at once to his study, where, moved by the remark of the butler, he stared long and hard at his features in a mirror. His face was ashen grey, and suddenly, strangely old.