“Very likely,” said Captain Wragge.  “But your never having seen him is no reason why he should not have seen you.”

“When did he see me?”

The captain corked up his doses of truth on the spot without a moment’s hesitation.  “Some time ago, my dear.  I can’t exactly say when.”

“Only once?”

Captain Wragge suddenly saw his way to the administration of another dose.  “Yes,” he said, “only once.”

She reflected a little.  The next question involved the simultaneous expression of two ideas, and the next question cost her an effort.

“He only saw me once,” she said, “and he only saw me some time ago.  How came he to remember me when he found me here?”

“Aha!” said the captain.  “Now you have hit the right nail on the head at last.  You can’t possibly be more surprised at his remembering you than I am.  A word of advice, my dear.  When you are well enough to get up and see Mr. Kirke, try how that sharp question of yours sounds in his ears, and insist on his answering it himself.”  Slipping out of the dilemma in that characteristically adroit manner, Captain Wragge got briskly on his legs again and took up his hat.

“Wait!” she pleaded.  “I want to ask you—­”

“Not another word,” said the captain.  “I have given you quite enough to think of for one day.  My time is up, and my gig is waiting for me.  I am off, to scour the country as usual.  I am off, to cultivate the field of public indigestion with the triple plowshare of aloes, scammony and gamboge.”  He stopped and turned round at the door.  “By-the-by, a message from my unfortunate wife.  If you will allow her to come and see you again, Mrs. Wragge solemnly promises not to lose her shoe next time. I don’t believe her.  What do you say?  May she come?”

“Yes; whenever she likes,” said Magdalen.  “If I ever get well again, may poor Mrs. Wragge come and stay with me?”

“Certainly, my dear.  If you have no objection, I will provide her beforehand with a few thousand impressions in red, blue, and yellow of her own portrait (’You might have blown this patient away with a feather before she took the Pill.  Look at her now!’).  She is sure to drop herself about perpetually wherever she goes, and the most gratifying results, in an advertising point of view, must inevitably follow.  Don’t think me mercenary—­I merely understand the age I live in.”  He stopped on his way out, for the second time, and turned round once more at the door.  “You have been a remarkably good girl,” he said, “and you deserve to be rewarded for it.  I’ll give you a last piece of information before I go.  Have you heard anybody inquiring after you, for the last day or two, outside your door?  Ah!  I see you have.  A word in your ear, my dear.  That’s Mr. Kirke.”  He tripped away from the bedside as briskly as ever.  Magdalen heard him advertising himself to the nurse before he closed the door.  “If you are ever asked about it,” he said, in a confidential whisper, “the name is Wragge, and the Pill is to be had in neat boxes, price thirteen pence half-penny, government stamp included.  Take a few copies of the portrait of a female patient, whom you might have blown away with a feather before she took the Pill, and whom you are simply requested to contemplate now.  Many thanks. Good-morning.”