Though too much interested in the characters of the persons whom chance threw in his path to have much ambition on his own behalf, it pleased him to see it in others.  He observed with satisfaction the pride which Arthur took in his calling and the determination, backed by his confidence and talent, to become a master of his art.  Dr Porhoet knew that a diversity of interests, though it adds charm to a man’s personality, tends to weaken him.  To excel one’s fellows it is needful to be circumscribed.  He did not regret, therefore, that Arthur in many ways was narrow.  Letters and the arts meant little to him.  Nor would he trouble himself with the graceful trivialities which make a man a good talker.  In mixed company he was content to listen silently to others, and only something very definite to say could tempt him to join in the general conversation.  He worked very hard, operating, dissecting, or lecturing at his hospital, and took pains to read every word, not only in English, but in French and German, which was published concerning his profession.  Whenever he could snatch a free day he spent it on the golf-links of Sunningdale, for he was an eager and a fine player.

But at the operating-table Arthur was different.  He was no longer the awkward man of social intercourse, who was sufficiently conscious of his limitations not to talk of what he did not understand, and sincere enough not to express admiration for what he did not like.  Then, on the other hand, a singular exhilaration filled him; he was conscious of his power, and he rejoiced in it.  No unforeseen accident was able to confuse him.  He seemed to have a positive instinct for operating, and his hand and his brain worked in a manner that appeared almost automatic.  He never hesitated, and he had no fear of failure.  His success had been no less than his courage, and it was plain that soon his reputation with the public would equal that which he had already won with the profession.

Dr Porhoet had been making listless patterns with his stick upon the gravel, and now, with that charming smile of his, turned to Arthur.

‘I never cease to be astonished at the unexpectedness of human nature,’ he remarked.  ’It is really very surprising that a man like you should fall so deeply in love with a girl like Margaret Dauncey.’

Arthur made no reply, and Dr Porhoet, fearing that his words might offend, hastened to explain.

’You know as well as I do that I think her a very charming young person.  She has beauty and grace and sympathy.  But your characters are more different than chalk and cheese.  Notwithstanding your birth in the East and your boyhood spent amid the very scenes of the Thousand and One Nights, you are the most matter-of-fact creature I have ever come across.’

‘I see no harm in your saying insular,’ smiled Arthur.  ’I confess that I have no imagination and no sense of humour.  I am a plain, practical man, but I can see to the end of my nose with extreme clearness.  Fortunately it is rather a long one.’