For still at his heart, under all its happiness, there lay that annihilating doubt; the doubt and the fear that had been sown there by Horace Jewdwine.  He could see for himself that one of his terrors was baseless; but there remained that other more terrible possibility.  None of them had dared to put it into words; but it was implied, reiterated, in the name of Sir Wilfrid Spence.  He had moreover a feeling that this happiness of his was too perfect, that it must be taken away from him.

He confided his trouble to Kitty that night, sitting up over the drawing-room fire.  Lucia’s doctor had come and gone.

“What did he say, Kitty?”

“He says there’s no need for Sir Wilfrid Spence to see her at all.  He is going to wire to him not to come.”

He gave a sigh of relief.  Then his eyes clouded.

“No.  He must come.  I’d rather he came.”

“But why?  He isn’t a nerve specialist.”

He shuddered.  “I know.  That’s why I must have him.  I can’t trust these local men.”

“It will be horribly expensive, Keith.  And it’s throwing money away.  Dr. Robson said so.”

“That’s my affair.”

“Oh well, as for that, it was all arranged for.”

“Nobody has any right to arrange for it but me.”

“Much better arrange for a good time at Alassio.”

“No.  I want to be absolutely certain.  You tell me she’s perfectly well, and that doctor of yours swears she is, and I think it; and yet I can’t believe it.  I daren’t.”

“That’s because you’re not feeling very well yourself.”

“I know that in some ways she is getting stronger every minute; but you see, I can’t help thinking what that other man said.”

“What other man?”

“Well, the Jewdwines’ doctor.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.  It was Jewdwine.  He told me—­well—­that was why their engagement was broken off.  Because she wasn’t strong enough to marry.”

Kitty’s eyes blazed.  “He told you that?”

“Not exactly.  He couldn’t, you know.  I only thought their doctor must have told him—­something terrible.”

“I don’t suppose he told him anything of the sort.”

“Oh well, you know, he didn’t say so.  But he let me think it.”

“Yes.  I know exactly how it was done.  He wouldn’t say anything he oughtn’t to.  But he’d let you think it.  It was just his awful selfishness.  He thought there was an off chance of poor Lucy being a sort of nervous invalid, and he wouldn’t risk the bother of it.  But as for their engagement, there never was any.  That was another of the things he let you think.  I suppose he cared for Lucy as much as he could care for anybody; but the fact is he wants to marry another woman, and he couldn’t bear to see her married to another man.”

“Oh, I say, you know—­”

“It sounds incredible.  But you don’t know how utterly I distrust that man.  He’s false through and through.  There’s nothing sound in him except his intellect.  I wish you’d never known him.  He’s been the cause of all your—­your suffering, and Lucy’s too.  You might have been married long ago if it hadn’t been for him.”