"That was a brain wave!" I exclaimed. "For an old woman, I've never met a keener exponent of the equality of the sexes. She'll come--if it's only to show that she's as good as any man at being rejuvenated!" "Do you think so, George?" he asked, nervously. "It will be a terrible blow if she refuses. I feel as if I've waited fifty years for this. . . ." "I shouldn't worry, if I were you! Everything will come right in the end. Even if she won't accompany us now she will be bound to give way when we return--with our eighty-seven rejuvenated recruits. Not even a woman could withstand such overwhelming evidence as that." "It isn't any question of doubt, George. It's more a sort of maidenly modesty--almost fear. She's very sensitive and shy. She thinks, too, that the whole business is crude and inartistic--but, as I told her, so is any operation or medical attention. Women are very peculiar, George. If they instinctively dislike a thing it's no use trying to reason with them--they'll only dislike it all the more. . . . I suggested that _female_ glands might meet with her approval, and the idea seemed to pacify her somewhat. But I'm not very hopeful; and, even if she does agree, I feel that it will be from a sense of martyrdom." He went to bed in a very pessimistic mood that night, and when he came down in the morning to an empty letter-box his grief was touching to see. He ate practically no breakfast, spoke very little to anyone, ignored Molly's motherly concern, and looked at least ten years older than he had the previous day. "What time are you going over to Dr. Croft's?" I asked. "I don't think I shall go until this afternoon." "But isn't he expecting you? One of us should be there." "Will you go, George?" he requested pathetically. "I can't. I've that appointment about the steamer." "Stringer--would you mind?" he asked. "Not at all!" "I don't feel . . . very fit, this morning," murmured Gran'pa, apologetically. "I think I overdid it yesterday." "For a man of your age," said Stringer, "I don't know how you kept going as you did. A day's rest will do you good." So Stringer went, and Gran'pa moved restlessly about the house, like a man on the border of a nervous breakdown. "I'm inclined to think that you overtaxed your strength at that meeting," I said. "It isn't that. It's this . . . terrible suspense. My God, George, women are the very devil--even when they are angels!" "You mustn't worry. Go and see her." "I promised that I wouldn't until she wrote." "It's quite possible that she has missed the first post. Wait till to-morrow. Meanwhile, come with me this morning. It'll stop your brooding." "I don't like leaving home. Suppose she's ill and sends a wire, or . . ." The front door bell rang and I saw Gran'pa go a shade paler and hold his breath. I, too, had the sense of something ominous in the air. A few seconds later Nanny entered the room and announced: "Miss Froud!"