“A Dover’s powder, Deppy, or a few grains of quinine.  Please be sensible.  You’re just like a child.”

“What’s in a Dover’s powder?” demanded the patient, who had never been ill in his life.

“Ipecac and opium, sugar of milk or sulphate of potash.  It’s an anodyne diaphoretic,” said Browne.

“Opium, eh?” came sharply from the couch.  “Good Lord, an overdose of it would—­” he checked the words abruptly and gave vent to a nervous fit of laughter.

“Don’t be a fool, George,” commanded his wife.  “No one is trying to poison you.”

“Who’s saying that he’s going to poison me?” demanded Deppingham shortly.  “I’m objecting because I don’t like the idea of taking medicine from a man just out of college.  Now judge for yourself, Browne:  would you take chances of that sort, away off here where there isn’t a physician nearer than twelve hundred miles?  Come now, be frank.”

Bobby Browne leaned back and laughed heartily.  “I daresay you’re right.  I should be a bit nervous.  But if we don’t practise on some one, how are we to acquire proficiency?  It’s for the advancement of science.  Lots of people have died in that service.”

“By Jove, you’re cold-blooded about it!” He stared helplessly at his wife’s smiling face.  “It’s no laughing matter, Agnes.  I’m a very sick man.”

“Then, why not take the powders?”

“I’ve just given my wife a powder, old man.  She’s got a nervous headache,” urged Browne tolerantly.

“Your wife?” exclaimed Deppingham, sitting up.  “The devil!” He looked hard at Browne for a moment.  “Oh, I say, now, old chap, don’t you think it’s rather too much of a coincidence?”

Browne arose quickly, a flash of resentment in his eyes.  “See here, Deppingham—­”

“Don’t be annoyed, Bobby,” pleaded Lady Agnes.  “He’s nervous.  Don’t mind him.”

“I’m not nervous.  It’s the beastly chill.”

“Just the same.  Lady Agnes, I shall not give him a grain of anything if he persists in thinking I’m such a confounded villain as to—­”

“I apologise, Browne,” said Deppingham hastily.  “I’m not afraid of your medicine.  I’m only thinking of my wife.  If I should happen to die, don’t you know, there would be people who might say that you could have cured me.  See what I mean?”

“You dear old goose,” cried his wife.

“I fancy Selim or Baillo or even Bowles knows what a fellow doses himself with when he’s bowled over by one of these beastly island ailments.  Oblige me, Agnes, and send for Bowles.”

Bowles came bowing and scraping into the room a few minutes later.  He immediately recommended an old-fashioned Dover’s powder and ventured the opinion that “good sweat” would soon put his lordship on his feet, “better than ever.”  Deppingham kept Bowles beside him while Browne generously prepared and administered the medicine.

Later in the night the Princess came to see how the patient was getting on.  He was in a dripping perspiration.