ew himself up as haughtily as a fat man in a dressing-gown
can, but the effect was wasted on his companion, who had turned and gone
into her room.

"Come in here," she said.

Tougher men than Mr. Bennett had found it impossible to resist the note
of calm command in that voice, but for all that he reproached himself
for his weakness in obeying.

"Sit down!" said Jane Hubbard.

She indicated a low stool beside the dressing-table.

"Put your tongue out!" she said, as Mr. Bennett, still under her strange
influence, lowered himself on to the stool. "Further out! That's right.
Keep it like that!"

"Ouch!" exclaimed Mr. Bennett, bounding up.

"Don't make such a noise! You'll wake Mr. Hignett. Sit down again!"

"I...."

"Sit down!"

Mr. Bennett sat down. Miss Hubbard extended once more the hand holding
the needle which had caused his outcry. He winced away from it
desperately.

"Baby!" said Miss Hubbard reprovingly. "Why, I once sewed eighteen
stitches in a native bearer's head, and he didn't make half the fuss
you're making. Now, keep quite still."

Mr. Bennett did--for perhaps the space of two seconds. Then he leaped
from his seat once more. It was a tribute to the forceful personality of
the fair surgeon, if one were needed, that the squeal he uttered was a
subdued one. He was just about to speak--he had framed the opening words
of a strong protest--when suddenly he became aware of something in his
mouth, something small and hard. He removed it and examined it as it lay
on his finger. It was a minute fragment of lobster-shell. And at the
same time he became conscious of a marked improvement in the state of
his tongue. The swelling had gone.

"I told you so!" said Jane Hubbard placidly. "What is it?"

"It--it appears to be a piece of...."

"Lobster-shell. And we had lobster for lunch. Good-night."

Half-way down the stairs, it suddenly occurred to Mr. Bennett that he
wanted to sing. He wanted to sing very loud, and for quite some time. He
restrained the impulse, and returned to bed. But relief such as his was
too strong to keep bottled up. He wanted to tell someone all about it.
He needed a confidant.

Webster, the valet, awakened once again by the ringing of his bell,
sighed resignedly and made his way downstairs.

"Did you ring, sir?"

"Webster," cried Mr. Bennett, "it's all right! I'm not dying after all!
I'm not dying after all, Webster!"

"Very good, sir," said Webster. "Will there be anything