peace—­to be at peace; times when it’s downright agony to watch a fly buzzing up and down the pane and know he hasn’t even the strength for that—­when every muscle is in torture, and every movement means hell—­” He broke off; his lips usually so steady had begun to twitch.  “I’m a fool, Capper,” he murmured apologetically.  “Make allowances for a sick man!”

“Look here!” said Capper.  “This is a big decision for you to make off-hand.  You can take three months anyway to think it over.  You are getting stronger, you know.  By then you’ll be stronger still.  You won’t be well.  Nothing but surgical measures can ever make you well.  And you’ll go on suffering that infernal pain.  But three months one way or another won’t make much difference.  I am due in London in September for the Schultz Medical Conference.  I’ll run over then and see if you’ve made up your mind.”

“Will you, doctor?  That’s real kind of you.”  Lucas’s eyes brightened.  He stretched out a hand which Capper grasped and laid gently down.  “And if you undertake the job—­”

“If you are fit to go through it,” Capper broke in, “I’ll do it right away before I leave.  You’ll spend the winter on your back.  And in the spring I’ll come again and finish the business.  That second operation is a more delicate affair than the first, but I don’t consider it more dangerous.  By this time next year, or soon after, you’ll be walking like an ordinary human being.  I’ll have you as lissom as an Indian.”

He cracked his fingers one after the other in quick succession and rose.  A moment he stood looking down at the smooth face that had flushed unwontedly at his words; then bending, he lightly tapped his patient’s chest.  “Meanwhile, my friend,” he said, “you keep a stiff upper lip, and cherchez la femme—­cherchez la femme toujours!  You’ll be a sound man some day and she won’t mind waiting if she’s the right sort.”

“Ah!” Lucas said.  “You will have to forego that condition, doctor.  I am no ladies’ man.  Shall I tell you what a woman said to me the other day?”

“Well?”

“That I was like a mother to her.”  Again without much mirth he smiled.  His lips were steady enough now.

“I should like to meet that woman,” said Capper.

“Why?”

The doctor’s hand sought his beard.  “P’r’aps she’d tell me I was like a father.  Who knows?”

Lucas looked at him curiously.  “Are you fond of women?”

“I adore them,” said Capper without enthusiasm.  He never satisfied curiosity.

Lucas’s eyes fell away baffled.  “I’ll take you to see her this afternoon if you can spare the time,” he said.

“Oh, I can spend the afternoon philandering so long as I catch the night train to Liverpool,” Capper answered promptly.  “Meanwhile you must get a rest while I go and take a dose of air and sunshine in the yard.”

His straight, gaunt figure passed to the door, opened it, and disappeared with a directness wholly at variance with his lack of repose when seated.