usiness yet. In all probability
there are many years ahead. Therefore this announcement must come to
Lady Calmady from an educated person, from an equal, from somebody who
can see all round it. Mrs. Ormiston tells me she leaves here to-morrow
morning?"

"Mrs. Ormiston is out of the question anyhow," Roger exclaimed rather
bitterly.

Here Julius March, who had so far been silent, spoke; and in speaking
showed what manner of spirit he was of. The doctor agitated him,
treated him, moreover, with scant courtesy. But Julius put this aside.
He could afford to forget himself in his desire for any possible
mitigation of the blow which must fall on Katherine Calmady. And,
listening to his talk, he had, in the last quarter of an hour, gained
conviction not only of this man's ability, but of his humanity, of his
possession of the peculiar gentleness which so often, mercifully, goes
along with unusual strength. As the coarse-looking hand could soothe,
touching delicately, so the hard intellect and rough tongue could, he
believed, modulate themselves to very consoling and inspiring
tenderness of thought and speech.

"We have you, Dr. Knott," he said. "No one, I think, could better break
this terrible sorrow to Lady Calmady, than yourself."

"Thank you--you are generous, Mr. March," the other answered cordially;
adding to himself,--"Got to revise my opinion of the black coat. Didn't
quite deserve that after the way you've badgered him, eh, John Knott?"

He shrugged his big shoulders a little shamefacedly.

"Of course, I'd do my best," he continued. "But you see ten to one I
shan't be here at the moment. As it is I have neglected lingering
sicknesses and sudden deaths, hysterical girls, croupy children, broken
legs, and all the other pretty little amusements of a rather large
practice, waiting for me. Suppose I happen to be twenty miles away on
the far side of Westchurch, or seeing after some of Lady Fallowfeild's
numerous progeny engaged in teething or measles? Lady Calmady might be
kept waiting, and we cannot afford to have her kept waiting in this
crisis."

"I wish to God my aunt, Mrs. St. Quentin, was here!" Ormiston
exclaimed. "But she is not, and won't be, alas."

"Well, then, who remains?"

As the doctor spoke he pressed his fingers against the edge of the
table, leaned forward, and looked keenly at Ormiston. He was extremely
ugly just then, ugly as the weather-worn gargoyle on some mediaeval
church tower; but his e