"You have not yet told me, doctor," said Luke, a shade more stiffly than before, "what is the matter with Lord Radclyffe." There was distinct emphasis on the last two words. Doctor Newington shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly. "Your uncle has had something in the nature of a stroke," he said bluntly, and he fixed keen light-coloured eyes on those of Luke, watching the effect which the news--baldly and crudely put--would have on the young man's nerves. He was a man with what is known as a fashionable practice. He lived in Hertford Street and his rounds were encircled by the same boundaries as those of the rest of Mayfair. He had had plenty of opportunity of studying those men and women who compose the upper grades of English society. They and their perfect _sang-froid_, their well-drilled calm under the most dire calamities, or most unexpected blows had often caused him astonishment when he was a younger man, fresh from hospital work, and from the haunts of humbler folk, who had no cause or desire to hide the depth of their feelings. Now he was used to his fashionable patients and had ceased to wonder, and Luke's impassiveness on hearing of his uncle's sudden illness did not necessarily strike him as indifference. "Is it serious?" asked Luke. "Serious. Of course," assented the doctor. "Do you mean that Lord Radclyffe's life is in danger?" "At sixty years of age, life is always in danger." "I don't mean that," rejoined Luke with a slight show of impatience. "Is Lord Radclyffe in immediate danger?" "No. With great care and constant nursing, he may soon rally, though I doubt if he will ever be as strong and hearty as he was this time last year." "Then what about a nurse?" "I'll send one down to-day, but----" "Yes?" "Lord Radclyffe's present household is--well, hardly adequate to the exigencies of a long and serious illness--he ought to have a day and a night nurse. I can send both, but they will want some waiting on and of course proper meals and ordinary comforts----" "I can see to all that. Thank you for your advice." "A good and reliable cook is also necessary--who understands invalid cooking--all that is most important." "And shall be attended to at once. Is there anything else?" "Perfect rest and quiet of course are the chief things." "I shan't worry him, you may be sure, and no one else is likely to come near him." "Except the police," remarked the doctor dryly. "The police?" The grave events of the night before, and those that were ready to follow one another in grim array for the next few days had almost fled from Luke's memory in face of the other--to him more serious--calamity--his uncle's illness. "Oh! Ah, yes!" he said vaguely. "I had forgotten."