"His mother! That old dianthus! Oh, mammy darling, what different sorts of mothers do crop up when you think of it!" And Sally is so moved by this scientific marvel that she suddenly kisses her mother, there out on the public parade with a gentleman in check trousers and an eye-glass coming along! "Why do you call the old lady a dianthus, chick? Really, the way you treat that poor old body!..." "Not when Prosy's there. I know my place.... We-ell, you know what a dianthus's figure is like? When the tentacles are in, I mean." But Rosalind tacitly condemns the analogy. Is she not herself a mother, and bound to take part with her kind, however obese? "What were you and the doctor talking about in the boat all that long time yesterday?" she asks, skipping an interval which might easily have contained a review of Mrs. Vereker inside-out like a sea-anemone. Sally is quite equal to it. "Resuscitation after drowning. Prosy says death is really due to carbonic acid poisoning. Anybody would think it was choking, but it's nothing of the sort. The arterial blood is insufficiently fed with oxygen, and death ensues." "How long did you talk about that?" "Ever so long. Till I asked him what he should do if a visitor were drowned and couldn't be brought to. Not at the hotel; down here. Me, for instance." "What did he say?" "He was jolly solemn over it, Prosy was. Said he should try his best, and as soon as he was sure it was no go, put an end to his own existence. I said that would be wrong, and besides, he couldn't do it. He said, oh yes, he could--he could inject air into a vein, and lots of things. He went on a physiological tack, so I quoted Hamlet." "What did he make of Hamlet?" "Said the researches of modern science all tended to prove that extinction awaited us at death, and he would take his chance. He was quite serious over it." "And then you said?..." "I said, suppose it turned out that modern science was tommy-rot, wouldn't he feel like a fool when all was said and done? He admitted that he might, in that case. But he would take his chance, he said. And then we had a long argument, Prosy and I." "Has he ever resuscitated a drowned person?" "Oh yes, two or three. But he says he should like a little more practice, as it's a very interesting subject." "You really are the most ridiculous little kitten there ever was! Talking like the President of the Royal College of Surgeons! Not a smile." "We-ell, there's nothing in _that_." Slightly offended dignity on Miss Sally's part. "I say, the 'bus is very late; it's striking seven." But just as St. Sennan ceases, and leaves the air clear for listening, Rosalind exclaims, "Isn't that it?" And this time it is it, and by ten minutes past seven Fenwick is in the arms of his family, who congratulate him on a beautiful new suit of navy-blue serge, in which he looks very handsome. * * * * *