We had entered the great dining room as we talked, and he was drawing me to his great sideboard, with hospitable intent to which at that moment I could not yield.  Now, however, we were interrupted.

A door opened at the side of the room, where a narrow stairway ran down from the second floor, and there appeared the short, stocky figure, the iron gray mane, of our friend, Dr. Samuel Bond, physician for two counties thereabout, bachelor, benefactor, man of charity, despite his lancet, his quinine and his calomel.

“Ah, Doctor,” began Colonel Sheraton, “here is our young friend back from his travels again.  I’m going to tell you now, as I think I may without much risk, that there is every hope the Cowles family will win in this legal tangle which has threatened them lately—­win handsomely, too.  We shall not lose our neighbors, after all, nor have any strangers breaking in where they don’t belong.  Old Virginia, as she was, and forever, gentlemen!  Join us, Doctor.  You see, Mr. Cowles,” he added to me, “Doctor Bond has stopped in as he passed by, for a look at my daughter.  Miss Grace seems just a trifle indisposed this morning—­nothing in the least serious, of course.”

We all turned again, as the front door opened.  Harry Sheraton entered.

“Come, son,” exclaimed his father.  “Draw up, draw up with us.  Pour us a drink around, son, for the success of our two families.  You, Doctor, are glad as I am, that I know.”

We stood now where we had slowly advanced toward the sideboard.  But Doctor Bond did not seem glad.  He paused, looking strangely at me and at our host.  “Harry,” said he, “suppose you go look in the hall for my saddle-bags—­I have left my medicine case.”

The young man turned, but for no reason apparently, stopped at the door, and presently joined us again.

“May I ask for Miss Grace this morning, Doctor,” I began, politely.

“Yes,” interjected Colonel Sheraton.  “How’s the girl?  She ought to be with us this minute—­a moment like this, you know.”

Doctor Bond looked at us still gravely.  He turned from me to Colonel Sheraton, and again to Harry Sheraton.  “Harry,” said he, sternly.  “Didn’t you hear me?  Get out!”

We three were left alone.  “Jack, I must see you a moment alone,” said Doctor Bond to me.

“What’s up,” demanded Colonel Sheraton.  “What’s the mystery?  It seems to me I’m interested in everything proper here.  What’s wrong, Doctor?  Is my girl sick?”

“Yes,” said the physician.

“What’s wrong?”

“She needs aid,” said the old wire-hair slowly.

“Can you not give it, then?  Isn’t that your business?”

“No, sir.  It belongs to another profession,” said Doctor.  Bond, dryly, taking snuff and brushing his nose with his immense red kerchief.

Colonel Sheraton looked at him for the space of a full minute, but got no further word.  “Damn your soul, sir!” he thundered, “explain yourself, or I’ll make you wish you had.  What do you mean?” He turned fiercely upon me.