A constraint had fallen on Mary.  She allowed herself to be escorted to the car and helped into it in silence.  Beaumaroy made no effort to force the talk, possibly by reason of the presence of Sergeant Hooper, who had arrived back from the chemist’s with the medicine for Mr. Saffron just as Mary and Beaumaroy came out of the hall door.  He stood by his bicycle, drawing just a little aside to let them pass, but not far enough to prevent the light from the passage showing up his ill-favored countenance.

“Well, good-bye, Dr. Arkroyd.  I’ll see how he is to-morrow, and ask you to be kind enough to call again, if it seems advisable.  And a thousand thanks.”

“Good-night, Mr. Beaumaroy.”

She started the car.  Beaumaroy walked back to the hall door.  Mary glanced behind her once, and saw him standing by it, again framed by the light behind him, as she had seen him on her arrival.  But, this time, within the four corners of the same frame was included the forbidding visage of Sergeant Hooper.

Beaumaroy returned to the fire in the parlor; Hooper, leaving his bicycle in the passage, followed him into the room and put the medicine bottle on the table.  Smiling at him, Beaumaroy pointed at the combination knife-and-fork.

“Is it your fault or mine that that damned thing’s lying there?” he asked.

“Yours,” answered the Sergeant without hesitation and with his habitual surliness.  “I cleaned it and put it out for you to lock away, as usual.  Suppose you went and forgot it, sir!”

Beaumaroy shook his head in self-condemnation and a humorous dismay.  “That’s it!  I went and forgot it, Sergeant.  And I think, I rather think, that Doctor Mary smells a rat, though she is, at present, far from guessing the color of the animal!”

The words sounded scornful; they were spoken for the Sergeant as well as for himself.  He was looking amused and kindly, even rather tenderly amused; as though liking and pity were the emotions which most actively survived his first private conversation with Doctor Mary, in spite of that mishap of the combination knife-and-fork.

CHAPTER VI

ODD STORY OF CAPTAIN DUGGLE

Christmas Day of 1918 was a merry feast, and nowhere merrier than at Old Place.  There was a house-party and, for dinner on the day itself, a local contingent as well:  Miss Wall, the Irechesters, Mr. Penrose, and Doctor Mary.  Mr. Beaumaroy also had been invited by Mrs. Naylor; she considered him an interesting man and felt pity for the obvious ennui of his situation; but he had not felt able to leave his old friend.  Doctor Mary’s Paying Guest was of the house-party, not merely a dinner guest.  She was asked over to spend three days and went, accompanied by Jeanne, who by this time was crying much less; crying was no longer the cue; her mistress, and not merely stern Doctor Mary, had plainly shown her that.