The two visitors were Chesney Praye and a man whom Lois had not seen before, though she had heard his lordship’s views on him. Later she felt she had no particular desire to meet him again. He was a bald man of fifty, with a face even redder than Mr. Praye’s, a big, bulbous nose, a loose mouth. She might, had she met him in the street and not in this chaste atmosphere, have analysed him as a typical drunkard. Nor would that description have been uncharitable. His frock coat was old and shone at the seams, and she observed that he had made only a half-hearted attempt to make his nails presentable. “I want you to meet Dr. Tappatt.” So this was the famous doctor. She was not impressed. “Glad to meet you, young lady, very glad to meet you,” said the doctor with spurious heartiness. And with his words came the faint aroma of something that was not entirely whisky and not entirely cloves. “This is the young person your ladyship was speaking about? Hears voices, eh? Dear, dear, that’s a bad symptom,” he chuckled, “a very bad symptom. Eh, Chesney? We’ve had ’em for that! We’ve had ’em for that!” Lois saw the butler fill this strange creature’s glass with wine, and when she looked again the glass was empty. Apparently Braime, if he did not already know the peculiarities of the guest, had been carefully coached, for, without asking, he had refilled the glass. Lord Moron appeared at the lunch table, a sulky and silent young man, his face less extensively plastered. “Had an accident, eh? Been in a railway smash?” demanded the doctor. “Your lordship should be more careful.” “I haven’t been in a railway accident,” said Selwyn sulkily. He evidently knew the doctor, and the girl had a feeling that he was afraid of him, for once or twice she saw him glancing furtively and a little fearfully in the direction of the untidy man. “There’s another one who hears voices, eh? Your lordship hasn’t been followed by a dog--a nice black dog with a waggly tail, eh?” “No, I haven’t,” almost shouted Lord Moron, going red and white. “I never said I had, did I? I’m perfectly--I know what I’m doing and all that sort of thing. You leave me alone, sir.” It was in every way an uncomfortable meal for Lois Reddle. The glowering resentment of Moron, the calm indifference of his mother, the crude jocularity of Chesney Praye, and the presence of the doctor, who, when he was not drinking, was boasting of the wonderful cures he had effected in India, brought a sense of nightmare to the girl. Only once more did Dr. Tappatt turn his attention to Lois. “What’s this I hear about your trying to throw yourself over the balcony? Come, come, young lady, that will never do!” He wagged his animal face at her, and the bloodshot eyes gleamed unpleasantly. “Don’t be stupid.” It was Lady Moron who spoke. “The balcony gave way under Miss Reddle; there was no suggestion that she attempted to throw herself into the street.”