He answered her with curt directness.  “My dear lady, it would mean not one, but two.  I won’t trouble you with technical details which you wouldn’t understand.  Put briefly, it would mean in the first place a pulling down and in the second a building up.  Both operations would be a serious tax upon his strength, but I am satisfied that he has the strength for both.  Six months would elapse between the two, and during that time he would be flat on his back.  If he could hold on for those six months he would come through all right.  Of that I am convinced.  But those six months are my stumbling-block.  Freedom from all anxiety is essential.  He wants a stanch friend continually beside him to keep him cheery and at peace.  That fellow Nap is the principle obstacle.  He stirs up hell and tommy wherever he goes, and he’s never absent for long.  Lucas himself admits that his brothers are a care to him.  Oh, it’s all an infernal tangle.  I sometimes think family ties are the very deuce.”

Capper tugged at his beard with restless fingers and ground his heel into the turf.

“If you consider Nap an obstacle—­why don’t you speak to him?” Anne asked in her quiet voice.

Capper shrugged his shoulders.  “He hates me—­and small wonder!  I’ve told him the brutal truth too often.”

Anne passed the matter by.  “And Lucas does not wish to undergo the operation?”

“That’s just the infernal part of it!” burst forth Capper.  “He would undergo it to-morrow if he didn’t consider himself indispensable to these young whelps.  But that isn’t all.  Lady Carfax, he wants help.  He wants someone strong to stand by.  I believe you could do it—­if you would.  You are the sort of woman that men turn to in trouble.  I’ve been watching you.  I know.”

Again very faintly Anne smiled, with more of patience than amusement.  “Dr. Capper, has Lucas been telling you about me?”

Capper thrust out a hand.  “Yes.”

“You know how I am situated?” she questioned.

“I do.”  There was no sympathy in Capper’s voice or face; only in the grasp of his hand.

“And you think I could be of use to him?”

“I don’t think,” said Capper.  “I know.”  He released her hand as abruptly as he had taken it.  His long fingers began to curve and crack mechanically.  “I’ll tell you something,” he said.  “Don’t know why I should, but I will.  I love Lucas Errol as if he were my son.”

“Ah!” Anne said gently.  “I think we all love him in our different ways.”

“That so?” said the American keenly.  “Then I shall leave the matter in your charge, Lady Carfax.  I can see you’re a capable woman.  I’m coming back in September to perform that operation.  You will have a willing patient ready for me—­by willing I mean something gayer than resigned—­and my bugbear, Nap—­that most lurid specimen of civilised devilry—­hunting scalps on the other side of the Atlantic.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Anne said quickly.  “I don’t know!”