It being near the time for the doctor's visit, he decided to wait in order to see him. He had given up the hope of an interview with Arnott. Clearly the man was not in a condition to discuss the painful subject of his domestic complications. That matter would have to be left in abeyance until he was well enough to cope with such things. The delay irked Dare, but it was unavoidable. He sat in the little waiting-room at the open window, and read a book of epitaphs, intended to be humorous, but which struck him as dreary reading, and an odd selection for the waiting-room of a nursing home. He was relieved when the doctor came in,--a young man with an energetic manner, and a display of haste. His greeting of Dare was somewhat curt: the interviewing of his patients' friends was not in his opinion part of his day's work; and he was obviously anxious not to be delayed. He did not sit down. Dare, who had risen, remained standing also. "I understand," the doctor said, "that you are a friend of Mr Arnott,-- that you wish to see him?" "I called with the purpose of seeing him," Dare answered, carefully ignoring the first part of the speech. "His people are anxious for news of him." The doctor looked doubtfully at the speaker. He had wondered why, save for the young woman who had called repeatedly during the first days after the patient's admission to the home, and had manifested great distress at his condition, no one belonging to him had troubled even to make inquiries as to his progress. He had concluded that there was no one sufficiently interested in him to feel concern on his account. "I am reluctant to allow any one to see him for the present," he said. "He is getting on; but we have to avoid anything that might be likely to excite him. There is trouble with the brain unfortunately." "That is worse than I had anticipated," Dare said, shocked and disconcerted by this intelligence. "Will you please tell me, so far as it is possible to judge at this stage, what the result of this illness is likely to be? Is he to be an invalid for life?" "Well, it is paralysis, you know," the doctor answered, "and a bad case. Chronic alcoholism is mainly responsible. He will be able to walk, we hope--with the aid of sticks, of course. But his brain will never be quite clear. He may, however, live a long while." "That is to be regretted in the circumstances," Dare observed drily. The doctor agreed with him, but he did not say so. His business was to patch the man up, and he was doing his best to attend to it. He furnished a few more details, and held out vague hopes of an improvement in the mental condition. The patient had a good constitution, though he had done his utmost to ruin it; and if not crossed or excited, or worried with business matters, the brain would become stronger, though it would never be normally active again.