“Wait a moment!” exclaimed Panton; “there’s one thing about Miss Bubbles’ accident which does trouble me, I admit.  It puzzled me at the time; and I can see it is puzzling young Donnington too.”

Varick, who was already at the door, stayed his steps and turned round.

There had come back into his face the strained look which had softened away while he listened to his friend’s sensible remarks.  “Yes,” he said impatiently, “yes, Panton?  What is it that puzzles you?”

“I wish I knew exactly how long Miss Bubbles was in the water.  She was very, very far gone when that boy managed to clutch hold of her.  Did you see her go down again, and come up again twice?  Forgive me, my dear fellow, I’m afraid I’m distressing you.”

“You asked me that downstairs,” said Varick, “and I told you then that—­that I didn’t know.”

“I thought,” said Dr. Panton, “that you remembered so clearly all that had happened—­by what you said just now.”

“Yes, up to the moment when she fell in, I remember everything.  But once she was in the water everything became blurred.  All I can say is that it seemed as if hours drifted by before I saw you all come running up towards me—­”

“Come, come,” said Panton, a trifle impatiently.  “As a matter of fact it can’t have been more than three minutes.  Still, it was long enough for the girl to go as near the Great Divide, as a friend of mine calls it, as I’ve ever known a human being go.”

“I suppose,” said Varick slowly, “that if you hadn’t been there Bubbles would now be dead?”

“Well, yes, I’m afraid that’s true,” said the doctor simply.  “I should have expected that clever, intelligent Miss Farrow, to say nothing of Miss Brabazon, to know something about First Aid.  But neither of them know anything!  The only person who was of the slightest use was young Donnington; and I suspect—­” he smiled broadly.

“What do you suspect?” asked Varick rather quickly.

“Well, I suspect that he’s in love with Miss Bubbles.”

“Of course he is.”  Varick’s contemptuous tone jarred a little on Panton.  “But Bubbles intends to become Mrs. Tapster.”

“I should be sorry to think that!”

“Why sorry?  The modern young woman—­and Bubbles is a very modern young woman—­knows the value of money,” said Varick dryly.

He waited a moment.  “I’ll leave you now, Panton, and I’ll see that the dinner-bell isn’t rung till you’re quite ready.”

“All right.  I won’t be ten minutes—­”

But Varick lingered by the door.  “Panton,” he exclaimed, “you’ve been a good friend to me!  I want to tell you that I shall never forget it.  As long as there’s breath in my body I shall be grateful to you.”

As the doctor dressed he told himself again that Varick had never really recovered from the strain of his wife’s long illness.  Under that rather exceptionally calm, steadfast-looking exterior, the man was extraordinarily sensitive.  How upset, for instance, Varick had been about Miss Pigchalke’s crazy advertisement.  He, Panton, had felt quite sorry that he had said anything about it.