“True; but you can take a cropper more gracefully at twenty than at fifty-five.  However, the knee is getting on quite well—­you shall see it presently—­and you observe that I am giving it complete rest.  But that isn’t the whole of the trouble or the worst of it.  It’s my confounded nerves.  I’m as irritable as the devil and as nervous as a cat, and I can’t get a decent night’s rest.”

I recalled the tremulous hand that he had offered me.  He did not look like a drinker, but still—­

“Do you smoke much?” I inquired diplomatically.

He looked at me slyly and chuckled.  “That’s a very delicate way to approach the subject, Doctor,” he said.  “No, I don’t smoke much, and I don’t crook my little finger.  I saw you look at my shaky hand just now—­oh, it’s all right; I’m not offended.  It’s a doctor’s business to keep his eyelids lifting.  But my hand is steady enough as a rule, when I’m not upset, but the least excitement sets me shaking like a jelly.  And the fact is that I have just had a deucedly unpleasant interview—­”

“I think,” Miss Bellingham interrupted, “Doctor Berkeley and, in fact, the neighbourhood at large, are aware of the fact.”

Mr. Bellingham laughed rather shamefacedly.  “I’m afraid I did lose my temper,” he said; “but I am an impulsive old fellow, Doctor, and when I’m put out I’m apt to speak my mind—­a little too bluntly, perhaps.”

“And audibly,” his daughter added.  “Do you know that Doctor Berkeley was reduced to the necessity of stopping his ears?” She glanced at me, as she spoke, with something like a twinkle in her solemn grey eyes.

“Did I shout?” Mr. Bellingham asked, not very contritely, I thought, though he added:  “I’m very sorry, my dear; but it won’t happen again.  I think we’ve seen the last of that good gentleman.”

“I am sure I hope so,” she rejoined, adding:  “And now I will leave you to your talk; I shall be in the next room if you should want me.”

I opened the door for her, and when she had passed out with a stiff little bow I seated myself by the bedside and resumed the consultation.  It was evidently a case of nervous breakdown, to which the cab accident had, no doubt, contributed.  As to the other antecedents, they were no concern of mine, though Mr. Bellingham seemed to think otherwise, for he resumed:  “That cab business was the last straw, you know, and it finished me off, but I have been going down the hill for a long time.  I’ve had a lot of trouble during the last two years.  But I suppose I oughtn’t to pester you with the details of my personal affairs.”

“Anything that bears on your present state of health is of interest to me if you don’t mind telling it,” I said.

“Mind!” he exclaimed.  “Did you ever meet an invalid who didn’t enjoy talking about his own health?  It’s the listener who minds, as a rule.”

“Well, the present listener doesn’t,” I said.