In such genial fashion the surgeon and old friend of the family made his entry, bringing with him that atmosphere which men of his profession carry about with them, making the people who have been anxiously awaiting them feel that here is somebody who knows how to take things coolly, and is not upset at the notion of a broken bone.

He moved deliberately up-stairs toward Celia’s room, listening to the younger physician’s statement of the conditions under which he had been called, turning at the door to smile and nod back at Charlotte, who watched him from the top of the staircase with serious eyes.

At the end of what seemed like a long period of time the two physicians came down-stairs together, meeting Lanse at the foot.

“Well, sir,” said Doctor Forester, “so far, so good.  Celia is as comfortable as such cases usually are an hour or two afterward, which is not saying much from her point of view, though a good deal from ours.  She has a long siege of inactivity before her to put that knee into a strong condition, but it will not be a great while before she can be about on crutches, I hope.  Doctor Churchill, at my insistence, has put up the knee in the best possible shape, and I am going to leave it in his care.  I’ll drop in now and then, but the doctor is right beside you, and I’ve full confidence in him.  I knew his father, and I know enough about him to be sure that you’re all right in his hands.”

Lanse drew a long breath of relief.  “I’m very thankful it’s no worse,” he said.  “But, Doctor Forester, what are we to do about father and mother?  We can’t tell them——­”

“Tell them!  No!” said Doctor Forester, with decision.  “I wouldn’t have your mother told under any consideration, so long as the girl does well.  She would be back here on the next train and then we’d have something worse than a broken patella on our hands.  If there is any way by which you can let your father know I should do that.”

“I can, I think,” said Lanse, thoughtfully.  “We’re to send them general-delivery letters until they’re settled, and father will get those at the post-office and read them first.”

“As to your other problems—­housekeeping and all that, over which Celia is several times more worried than over her own condition—­can you figure those out?”

“Yes, somehow.”

“Good!  Go up and tell her so.  She thinks the house is going to destruction without her.  Good chance for the second violin.  Too bad that clever little orchestra will have to drop its practice for a few weeks.  I meant to run in some evening soon and hear you play.  Well, I’m overdue at the hospital.  Good-by, Lanse—­Doctor Churchill.  Keep me posted concerning the knee.”

Then the busy surgeon, who had put off several engagements to come out to the suburban town and look after the family of his old friend, whom he had known and loved since their college days, was off in his runabout, his chauffeur getting promptly under as much headway as the law allows, and rushing him out of sight in a hurry.