Askew smiled.  “Yes; it is no uncommon case.  I may add that Dr. McGregor’s letters have satisfied me that an immediate operation offers the only and too long delayed chance of success.  I must, of course, see Mrs. Penhallow—­the sooner the better.”

“Yes—­pray follow me.”  He led the way across the hall, opened the library door, and said to the astonished lady, “Prof.  Askew, Aunt Ann.”  Then he went out.

Well aware of being trapped, Mrs. Penhallow stood up and apparently at perfect ease said, “You must have had a very tiresome journey.”

“Not very,” he returned, as he accepted a seat.

Then the little lady sat up and said, “You must pardon me if I say that this consultation has been brought about by my nephew against my husband’s wishes.”

“And your own?”

“Yes, my own.”

“I so understand it.  May I say in my defence that I missed your telegram and only saw it when it was sent after me on the train, but now I am here.”  She had not the courage to say what she would have liked to say, and he went on.  “General Hancock saw me a day or two back.  What he said of your husband gave me at once a personal interest in him.  Isn’t it odd how one is brought to realize what a small place our world is?  I was at Port Delaware before the war ended and saw there—­I was on inspection duty—­a Confederate Colonel, Henry Grey—­a prisoner.  Is he not a relation of the handsome Miss Grey we met on the avenue?”

“My niece.  He is my brother.”

“Indeed!  I gave some advice about his wound—­it was not serious.  May I talk to you a little about your husband?”

She felt herself cornered, and could not escape without discourtesy, of which she was quite incapable; “Or,” he added, “may I not rather talk first to Colonel Penhallow, and later to you?  It is, I take it, his view of this very grave matter which naturally influences you.”

For the briefest of moments she made no reply.  Then she stood up and felt the force conveyed in the personality of George Askew, as he towered over her, a man of unusual height.  She looked up at the large kind face the long sad wards knew so well.  The lines of thought were deeply graven below a broad forehead thinly crowned with yellow hair now fast greying.  He showed no sign of impatience.  “Yes,” she said, “that will be better—­you must see Mr. Penhallow before you talk to me.  If he consents to do what you want to do—­I—­Well, Dr. Askew, I am just now too angry to reason.  Have the kindness to follow me.”

She was unwilling to give her husband any more choice than John Penhallow had given her.  If the Colonel became irritable and declined to accept the visit of this impressive personage as a surgeon, well, that must of course end the matter.  But as he went upstairs behind her, there arose in her mind a storm-battered hope.