"Believe me," he said, harking back after a pause, "that idea of the medical profession, that 'respectable and expected' idea of yours, is quite wrong. Oh, it isn't yours alone, it's common? enough; every little comic paragraphist thinks himself justified in turning out a number of ignorant jokes at the profession's expense in the course of the year; every twopenny-halfpenny caricaturist has to thank us for a number of his dinners. No harm's meant, and nobody minds; but people who actually know something of the subject that these funny men are so constant to can tell you that there's more nobility and self-sacrifice in the medical profession than in any under the sun, not excepting the Church. Yes, and more hardships too! The chat on the weather and the fee for remarking it's a fine day isn't every medical man's life; the difficulty is to get the fees in return for loyal attendance. Nobody's reverenced like the family doctor in time of sickness. In the days of their child's recovery the parents love the doctor almost as fervently as they do the child; but the fervour's got cold when Christmas comes and the gratitude's forgotten. And they know a doctor can't dun them; so he has to wait for his account and pretend the money's of no consequence when he bows to them, though the butcher and the baker and the grocer don't pretend to _him_, but look for _their_ bills to be settled every week. I could give you instances----" He gave instances. Corri spoke of difficulties, too. They smoked their cigars to the stumps, talking leisurely, until Corri declared that he must go. "In an hour, then, I'll call back for you," said Kincaid; "you won't be longer?" "I don't think so. But why not wait? You can make yourself comfortable; there's plenty of _The Times_ left to read." "I will. I want to write a couple of letters--can I?" "There's a desk! Have I got everything? Yes, that's all. Well, I'll be as quick as I can, but if I _should_ be detained I shall find you here?" "You'll find me here," said Kincaid, "don't be alarmed." The other's departure did not send him to the desk immediately, however. Left alone, it was manifest how used the man had been to living alone. It was manifest in his composure, in his deliberation, in the earnestness he devoted to the task when at last he attacked it. He had just reached the foot of the second page when somebody knocked at the door. "Come in," he said abstractedly. The knock was repeated. It occurred to him that Corri had omitted to provide for the contingency of a client's calling. "Come in!" he cried more loudly, annoyed at the interruption. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the intruder was a woman, with something in her hand. "Mr. Corri?" "Mr. Corri's not in," he replied, fingering the pen; "he'll be back by-and-by." Mary lingered irresolutely. Her temples throbbed, and in her weakness the sight of a chair magnetised her. "Shall I wait?" she murmured; "perhaps he won't be very long?"