The colonel attacked his fire. He thought he was being played with. Things were not right in the house, and no one, not the doctor, or even Annie, was frank with him. His kind face flushed as he straightened up to bid his guests good-night. “Well, if it's not anything serious, you think. But you'll be sure to let us know?” said Mrs. Dawson. “Well, good-night, Mrs. Creve. _Good_-night, Colonel! You'll say good-night to Moya? Do let us know if there is anything we can do.” Dr. Fleming was in the hall looking for his cape. The colonel touched him on the shoulder. “Don't be in a hurry, Doctor. Mrs. Dawson will excuse you.” “I don't think you need me any more to-night. Moya is with Mrs. Bogardus. She is not ill. The room was a little close.” “Never mind the _room_! Come in here. I want a word with you.” The doctor laughed oddly, and obeyed. “Annie, you needn't leave us.” “Why, thank you, dear boy! It's awfully good of you,” Annie mocked him. “But I must go and relieve Moya.” “I don't believe you are wanted in there,” said Doctor Fleming. “It's more than obvious that I'm not in here.” “Oh, do sit down,” said the teased colonel. The fire sulked and smoked a trifle with its brands apart. Doctor Fleming leaned forward upon his knees and regarded it thoughtfully. The colonel sat fondling the tongs. In a deep chair Mrs. Creve lay back and shaded her face with the end of her lace scarf. By her manner she might have been alone in the room, yet she was keenly observant of the men, for she felt that developments were taking place. “What is the matter with your patient upstairs, Doctor?” the colonel began his cross-examination. Doctor Fleming raised his eyebrows. “He's had nothing to eat to speak of for six weeks, at an altitude”-- “Yes; we know all that. But he's twenty-four years old. They made an easy trip back, and he has been here a week, nearly. He's not as strong as he was when they brought him in, is he?” “That was excitement. You have to allow for the reaction. He has had a shock to the entire system,--nerves, digestion,--must give him time. Very nervous temperament too much controlled.” “Make it as you like. But I'm disappointed in his rallying powers, unless you are keeping something back. A boy with the grit to do what he did, and stand it as he did--why isn't he standing it better now?” “We are all suffering from reaction, I think,” said Mrs. Creve diplomatically; “and we show it by making too much of little things. Tom, we oughtn't to keep the doctor up here talking nonsense. He wants to go to bed.”