mped out of her chair,
and threw her arms round the doctor's neck.

Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had happened.

"And what did Mr. A. do next?" he repeated. "He put his hand in his
pocket--he gave Miss B. a month's wages--and he turned her out of the
house. You impudent hussy, you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my mutton,
and hugged me round the neck! There is your money. Go."

With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood looking at him, like
a woman struck to stone. In a moment more, the rage burst out of her
in a furious scream. She turned to the table, and snatched up a knife.
Benjulia wrenched it from her hand, and dropped back into his chair
completely overpowered by the success of his little joke. He did what
he had never done within the memory of his oldest friend--he burst
out laughing. "This _has_ been a holiday!" he said. "Why haven't I got
somebody with me to enjoy it?"

At that laugh, at those words, the cook's fury in its fiercest heat
became frozen by terror. There was something superhuman in the doctor's
diabolical joy. Even _he_ felt the wild horror in the woman's eyes as
they rested on him.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked. She muttered and mumbled--and,
shrinking away from him, crept towards the door. As she approached the
window, a man outside passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed
to him; and repeated Benjulia's own words:

"Somebody to enjoy it with you," she said.

She opened the dining-room door. The man-servant appeared in the hall,
with a gentleman behind him.

The gentleman was a scrupulously polite person. He looked with alarm at
the ghastly face of the cook as she ran past him, making for the kitchen
stairs. "I'm afraid I intrude on you at an unfortunate time," he said to
Benjulia. "Pray excuse me; I will call again."

"Come in, sir." The doctor spoke absently, looking towards the hall, and
thinking of something else.

The gentleman entered the room.

"My name is Mool," he said. "I have had the honour of meeting you at one
of Mrs. Gallilee's parties."

"Very likely. I don't remember it myself. Take a seat."

He was still thinking of something else. Modest Mr. Mool took a seat in
confusion. The doctor crossed the room, and opened the door.

"Excuse me for a minute," he said. "I will be back directly."

He went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called to the housemaid.
"Is the cook down there?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is she doing?"