His expectation of getting more satisfactory results from Bream was fulfilled. It took some time to rouse that young man from a slumber almost as deep as his father’s; but, once roused, he showed a gratifying appreciation of the gravity of affairs. Joy at one half of his visitor’s news competed with consternation and sympathy at the other half. He thanked Mr. Bennett profusely, showed a fitting concern on learning of his terrible situation, and evinced a practical desire to help by offering him a bottle of liniment which he had found useful for gnat-stings. Declining this, though not ungratefully, Mr. Bennett withdrew and made his way down the passage again with something approaching a glow in his heart. The glow lasted till he had almost reached the landing, when it was dissipated by a soft but compelling voice from the doorway of Miss Hubbard’s room. “Come here!” said Miss Hubbard. She had put on a blue bath-robe, and looked like a pugilist about to enter the ring. “Well?” said Mr. Bennett coldly, coming nevertheless. “I’m going to have a look at that tongue of yours,” said Jane firmly. “It’s my opinion that you’re making a lot of fuss over nothing.” Mr. Bennett drew himself up as haughtily as a fat man in a dressing-gown can, but the effect was wasted on his companion, who had turned and gone into her room. “Come in here,” she said. Tougher men than Mr. Bennett had found it impossible to resist the note of calm command in that voice, but for all that he reproached himself for his weakness in obeying. “Sit down!” said Jane Hubbard. She indicated a low stool beside the dressing-table. “Put your tongue out!” she said, as Mr. Bennett, still under her strange influence, lowered himself on to the stool. “Further out! That’s right. Keep it like that!” “Ouch!” exclaimed Mr. Bennett, bounding up. “Don’t make such a noise! You’ll wake Mr. Hignett. Sit down again!” “I....” “Sit down!” Mr. Bennett sat down. Miss Hubbard extended once more the hand holding the needle which had caused his outcry. He winced away from it desperately. “Baby!” said Miss Hubbard reprovingly. “Why, I once sewed eighteen stitches in a native bearer’s head, and he didn’t make half the fuss you’re making. Now, keep quite still.” Mr. Bennett did—for perhaps the space of two seconds. Then he leaped from his seat once more. It was a tribute to the forceful personality of the fair surgeon, if one were needed, that the squeal he uttered was a subdued one. He was just about to speak—he had framed the opening words of a strong protest—when suddenly he became aware of something in his mouth, something small and hard. He removed it and examined it as it lay on his finger. It was a minute fragment of lobster-shell. And at the same time he became conscious of a marked improvement in the state of his tongue. The swelling had gone. “I told you so!” said Jane Hubbard placidly. “What is it?” “It—it appears to be a piece of....”