a long pause, and she thought he was not going to answer.
But she waited restfully, and at last he sighed.

"Yes," he said wearily, "that's what I want."

His voice had the flat tones of Cockneydom, but Mary took no note of
it.

"Then let me show you the way," she said, still gently; and he rose
at the word and followed her upstairs.

In this manner the new patient was installed in the household of Dr.
Pond. He slipped into his place like a shadow, displacing nothing.
The Doctor, swollen with the distinction of a visit by Professor Fish
in person, would willingly have made a fuss of him, if it had been
possible. But Smith was not amenable to polite attentions. To
attempts to render him particular consideration he opposed a barren
inertia; one could as easily have been obliging to a lamp-post. The
man's consciousness seemed to exist in a vacuum; he lived in a
solitude to which the kindly Doctor could never penetrate. Once,
certainly, his persistent geniality won him a rebuff. It was at
breakfast, and he was following his custom of endeavoring to trap
Smith into conversation. Smith sat opposite him at the table, staring
vacantly at the tablecloth.

"It is a fine morning," the Doctor observed, "I wonder, now, Mr.
Smith, if you would care for a little drive with me. I have some
brief visits to pay here and there, and I could drop you here again
before I go on. The fresh air would do you good--freshen you up, you
know; put a little life into you. Come, now! what do you say to
accompanying me?"

Smith said nothing, but his cheek twitched once. "Come now!" pressed
the Doctor persuasively. "See what a lovely day it is. Sun, fresh
air, the smell and sight of the fields--it'll put fresh life into
you."

Smith's white face worked slightly. "Ere," he said, and paused. The
Doctor bent forward, pleased. "Go to 'ell!" said Smith thoughtfully.

Mary had much more success with him; a slender link of sympathy had
established itself between the healthy, tranquil girl and this dreary
wisp of a man. She asked him no questions, and in return for her
forbearance he would sometimes speak to her voluntarily. He would
emerge from his trance-like apathy to watch her as she went about her
household duties. Professor Fish had spoken truly when he said that
Mary Pond knew how to create about her an atmosphere of serenity. The
tones of her quiet voice, the gentleness of her movements, the kindly
sobriety of her regard seemed to fortify her