The doctor glanced at him in a dubious way and shook his head. He knew something of the Onslows’ history--as who did not--and did not understand the young man’s anxiety to seek out his presumably erring wife. “Even for yourself I should not recommend the journey until you have had a rest,” he said, “and as your little boy is so unwell, you cannot do better than keep yourselves quiet and warm, for a day or two, until he is recovered.” He spoke privately to Jacynth afterward. “The little fellow is not seriously ill; you need not be alarmed,” he said. “I am making a trifle worse of his case than I need in order to detain Lord Francis for a short time. I suppose you see for yourself how much he is in need of rest and care. The fire must have given him a severe nervous shock.” “He is not strong, but I hoped that he would be better if I could get him to Guernsey and leave him in good hands.” “Do you mean his wife’s hands?” the doctor asked abruptly. “I do. He will never be happy till he has seen her.” “Then why not telegraph to her to come here? The great thing just now with Lord Francis is to keep his mind easy. If her presence would soothe and calm him you had better send for her at once, especially as the boy is unwell. If he should be unduly excited or agitated, however, I would not answer for the consequences.” Jacynth hesitated, “I do not know,” he said slowly, “whether she could travel so far. She has been ill--and----” “And, perhaps--she may not care to come, eh?” said the shrewd old doctor. “You must excuse me if she is a friend of yours, but the fact is, everything I have heard of Lady Francis Onslow leads me to conclude that she will not put herself much out of her way for her husband’s sake.” “You do not know her,” said Jacynth warmly; then, controlling with some difficulty a feeling of offense, he added, “I believe that she is very much attached to Lord Francis, and would come at once if she thought that he was ill.” “Then telegraph,” said the doctor. “Anything rather than let him travel in his present state of nerves and heart. It might be the death of him.” And with a brusque nod he took himself off, leaving Jacynth more than ever perplexed by the duty that devolved on him. What could he say to Fenella that would neither frighten nor repel? If he told her that Ronny was ill, she would be frantic with alarm. If he said that Lord Francis needed her, she might shrink away with wounded pride. He thought of the way in which she had spoken to him of her husband, and decided that he could not hope to conjure by his name. As he had said to the doctor, she would come if he told her that Lord Francis were ill; but if he summoned her on that account, how explain her appearance to Onslow himself? Every way seemed to be surrounded by difficulties. At last, in desperation, he wrote and dispatched the following telegram: Ronny knocked up by traveling; Lord Francis also unwell; can you come to us in order to save delay?