“Only because,” said Dr. Joliffe, “I now see the hopelessness of the position. Knowing John Smith as I do, I consider that Mr. Perry-Hennington has made a mountain out of a molehill. Of course he’s a fanatic on the subject, but the poor, feckless chap is amenable to the law as it exists at present, and he has no means of escape. It will be far wiser, believe me, to accept the inevitable. All that his friends can hope to do is to make things as comfortable for him as possible.” “That shall be done at any rate,” said Brandon. “It is Perry-Hennington’s intention, I presume, to have him sent to the county asylum.” “It is the only place for him, I’m afraid. But, of course, even there he will be extremely well treated.” “I don’t question that, but assuming it to be his destination, I should like him to live in comfort and dignity. Wouldn’t it be possible for him to go to some such place as Wellwood Sanatorium?” “Well, of course,” said Dr. Joliffe, “that is almost a question of ways and means. Wellwood is an ideal place for the poor fellow. But of course it is out of the question.” “Why?” “The expense.” “No matter what it may be,” said Brandon, “I shall be only too happy to bear it.” “It will not be less than five hundred a year.” “If it were twice as much I should count it a high privilege to be allowed to do that for him.” Dr. Joliffe shook the head of a prudent man over this piece of quixotism. “Very generous of you,” he said, “but they look after their patients so extraordinarily well at Broad Hill, that I am sure this expense is quite unnecessary.” Brandon, however, stuck to his plan. He had now made up his mind that if the worst happened, Wellwood should be the home of John Smith. “Very well.” Dr. Joliffe saw that a purposeless opposition could do no good. “If the necessity arises it shall be arranged for him to go there. And now I want you to forget all about this miserable matter. Dismiss it entirely from your thoughts.” “Impossible,” said Brandon. “We are deliberately closing the Door.” “Closing the door?” “For the human race.” The doctor looked sadly, uncomprehendingly at his patient. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Of course you don’t, my dear friend. It is not to be expected that you should. And at present I can’t enlighten you.” Dr. Joliffe shook a rather ominous head. Brandon was a mass of morbid fancies and illusions; and the doctor was very far indeed from being satisfied with the state in which he found him. He felt it to be his duty to give a little serious admonition, and then he withdrew from the room. The nurse was waiting in the dressing room adjoining, and to her he confided certain misgivings. The patient must stay in bed, he must not read, he must avoid all things likely to cause worry or excitement. And beyond everything else his mind must be kept from the subject of John Smith. XXIV