He clearly did not consider this a very creditable excuse. "Or perhaps he is really feeling better," suggested Gertrude. "Better! A man at death's door one minute--given up by the doctors--and wanting to eat his dinner the next!" He started. "I wonder's that nurse fooling us! I didn't like the look of the woman from the moment she came into the house. I don't believe in your good-looking nurses." On this point his sisters cordially agreed with him. Still they didn't believe it was the nurse. "Then what is it?" he demanded. "If he's light-headed, why does she pay any attention to him?" The door opened, this time without a tap, and in petrified silence they beheld the portly form of Heriot Walkingshaw, arrayed in a yellow dressing-gown, holding between his fingers a cigar, and smiling upon them with a curious blend of satisfaction and meekness. "I have recovered," said he. As he made this simple announcement he blew luxuriously through his nose two thin streams of smoke, while the meekness of his aspect seemed to make some conscious effort to keep on terms with the satisfaction. A duet of questions and exclamations arose from the two ladies, and again some conscious restraint appeared to underlie the paternal calm with which he answered them. "Yes," said he, "it is probably one of the most extraordinary recoveries on record. It began all of a sudden. The spasms passed completely away, my temperature fell to normal, and I felt a curious sensation almost of exhilaration. It grew stronger and stronger till at last I could keep in bed no longer. I felt livelier than I have for years." He passed the cigar under his nose, drew in his breath, and smiled at it with a kind of partially chastened affection. "Do you think could we not have dinner put on a little earlier, eh?" A cry from the open door startled them. The sympathetic widow, her black eyes dilated, was gazing at the patient. "Heriot!" she exclaimed, and there was a note in her voice that came very near to damping the junior partner's enthusiasm at finding the head of his firm restored to him. "Yes, Madge," said Mr. Walkingshaw, his beatific smile still blander, "I have indeed been spared." He drew another deep whiff from his cigar, and added gently-- "For maybe a few more years of quiet usefulness." PART II CHAPTER I