s." Pye mixed the toddy, and
we smoked more or less at our ease. I spoke of my patient, in answer to
a question, as one suffering from sea-sickness.

"What's she like?" inquired Holgate.

"I should say handsome," I rejoined. "I understood from Mr. Pye that
she is French."

"I think I heard so," said Pye, "but you could tell."

"Well, she spoke French," I said with a smile.

Pye's smile seemed to commend my reticence, but Holgate, ignoring the
obvious retort on me, pursued a different subject.

"Upon my soul, I envy people like those millionaires. Here am I working
like a navvy for a bare living, never been able to marry; Pye probably
in the same case; and you, doctor?"

"No; I'm a bachelor," I answered.

"Well, take us three--no doubt in our different walks every bit as
capable as Mr. Morland on his Wall Street, or wherever it is. It isn't
a righteous distribution of this world's goods."

"It is odd," said I, speaking my thoughts, "how you came to take up
this life."

"The sort of blunder," said Holgate, "that is made in three cases out
of four. I hankered after it in my teens, and once out of them it was
too late. Who is going to adapt a youth of twenty-one, without capital,
to a commercial life, or a legal life, or a medical life? There is no
changing the dice. When the hands are dealt you must abide by them."

"Yes, we are all waifs," said I sententiously, not being greatly
interested in the argument.

"When I came back from my last voyage," pursued Holgate, "I was in
Paris for a bit, and went into the Comedie one night, and----"

I never heard the rest of Holgate's reminiscence, for the word
regarding the theatre suddenly sent a message to my memory and lighted
it up instantaneously. I said aloud, and with some excitement,

"Trebizond!"

Holgate ceased talking, and Pye removed his cigarette hastily.

"What, may we venture to ask, is Trebizond?" he said presently.

I smiled foolishly. "Oh, it is only that I have made a discovery," I
said, "a small discovery."

Again there was silence.

"Perhaps we are worthy to hear it," suggested Holgate equably.

Pye still held his cigarette between his fingers and looked at me out
of his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Oh, nothing much," said I, and glanced at my watch. "I'm sorry, I must
see my patient safe for the night. I'll look in again."

I left them and went upstairs, knocking on the boudoir door. Miss
Morland opened it.

"Mlle. Chateray is still sleepi