At length with a shade of humour he spoke. "Here endeth the first lesson!
You'd make a better show if you had a drink also. I'm sorry there's only
one glass. You see, I wasn't expecting any friends to-night."

Piers started a little and straightened himself; but his face remained
bloodless, and there was a curiously stunned look in his eyes. He did not
attempt to utter a word.

Tudor drained his glass, sat a moment or two longer, then got up. There
were brandy and water on his writing-table. He poured out a stiff dose,
and turned to Piers with authority.

"Pull yourself together, Evesham! I should have thought you'd made a
big enough fool of yourself for one night. Drink this! Don't spill it
now! And don't sit down on the fire, for I don't feel equal to
pulling you off!"

His manner was briskly professional, the manner he usually reserved for
the hysterical portion of his patients. He was still feeling decidedly
shaky himself, but Piers' collapse was an admirable restorative. He stood
by, vigilant and resolute, while the brandy did its work.

Piers drank in silence, not looking at him. All the arrogance had gone
out of him. He looked broken and unmanned.

"Better?" asked Tudor at length.

He nodded mutely, and set down the glass.

Tudor surveyed him questioningly. "What happened to you?" he asked
finally.

"Nothing!" Piers found his voice at last, it was low and shamed. "Nothing
whatever! You--you--my God!--I thought you were dead, that's all."

"That all?" said Tudor. He put his hand up to his temple. There was a
fair-sized lump there already, and it was swelling rapidly.

Piers nodded again. The deathly pallor had gone from his face, but he
still avoided Tudor's eyes. He spoke again, below his breath, as if more
to himself than to Tudor.

"You looked so horribly like--like--a man I once--saw killed."

"If you are wise, you will go home to bed," said Tudor gruffly.

Piers flashed a swift look at him. He stood hesitating. "You're not
really hurt?" he questioned, after a moment.

"Thank you," said Tudor drily, "I am not."

He made no movement of reconciliation. Perhaps it was hardly to be
expected of him. Piers made none either. He turned away in silence.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. Two o'clock! Tudor looked
at it with a wry smile. It had been a lively quarter of an hour.

The surgery-door banged upon Piers' departure. He heard his feet move
heavily to the gate, and the dull clang