“Much more, to the spectators. Having left the art of pure comedy behind us with the days of patches and powder and red heels, we have taken a lesson from our stage managers and learnt to turn a tiresome tragedy into a roaring farce. It is easy enough. Play with a light touch, and exaggerate the sentiment, that’s the way to get your laughs and your audience; the world must be amused at any cost. Oh, Prosper”; she broke off, and called to her brother, Count Prosper von Rohnburg, who had just come in with a scientific-looking man, “have you heard anything of the wonderful tale Mr. Greetland has been telling us, how they have found at Vaux House the weapon with which that poor Captain Martindale is supposed to have been killed? Isn’t it thrilling?” “No,” he answered, speaking with a foreign accent far more pronounced than his sister’s. “I am behind the world to-day. There was no time to go to the Clubs, we have been absurdly busy at the Embassy. Here, Alix, let me present to you Doctor Hallamar who has come to spend a little time in England.” Doctor Hallamar bent his leonine head with its mass of obstreperous hair low till his lips touched the Countess’s hand. Manifestly he was a man of power, the keen, resolute face was of the kind that makes one glad to think its indicative strength has taken up arms against our common enemy, disease. “You are taking a holiday in England, Doctor,” Alexia enquired. “Hardly.” The deep tones sounded in unison with the rest of the man’s heroic fibre. “My visit is professional primarily, but I hope to see something of England during my enforced stay; if not of its scenery, at least of its scientific side.” “Doctor Hallamar means the hospitals,” the Count laughed. “He would rather see an interesting operation than the finest view in the world. You know the Doctor is the only man in Europe who can cure a certain form of disease.” Hallamar smiled deprecatingly. “Let us say, treat it, Count. I fear I cannot often undertake to cure it.” “Oh, you are modest, Doctor,” Alexia laughed. “And you have come over to attend a special case?” Hallamar bowed assent. “A lady who has lost the use of her limbs through an accident. As a diplomatist’s sister, Countess, you will not expect me to say more.” He beamed inscrutably through his spectacles. “My mission may be a failure, and then the less we shall have said about it the better.” “I can’t imagine you a failure, Doctor,” Alexia said, and truly, as her eyes rested with admiration on the strong, resourceful face. Hallamar’s smile had a touch of regret now. “I would, Countess, that your gracious words did not carry with them to me the sting of unintended satire.” “What is all this about the discovery at Vaux House?” Count Prosper asked. “Oh, we are to have the whole account to-morrow in the papers,” his sister replied. “We can scarcely trouble Mr. Greetland to go over the story again.”