“Sorry for!  The only thing I’m sorry for is that I didn’t send him before, and saved all this.”

“And as for the girl, no doubt it’s her fault, and Dudley’s, a great deal more than Max’s,” went on the mother of Max, with the usual feminine excuse for the darling scapegrace.  “When she’s gone he will forget all about her, as he always does.”

This speech was an unlucky one.

“Yes, that’s just what I complain of, that he always forgets,” said he, turning sharply upon his wife.  “If he would stick to anything or to anybody for so much as a week, or a day, or an hour, I shouldn’t mind so much.  But he isn’t man enough for that.  As soon as this girl’s out of the house, he’ll be looking about for another one.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t his fault that she came here at all,” persisted Mrs. Wedmore, who never opposed her husband except in the interest of her son.  “And I’m sure you can’t blame him for doing what he could for his friend, even if he does put us to a little inconvenience.  After all, Dudley’s been like a son to you for a great many years—­”

“That’s just what I complain of—­that he’s so like a son,” interrupted her husband.  “That is to say, he has brought upon us no end of worry and bother, and a bill for five guineas for this pleasant little drive down from London.”

“Well, how could we refuse to take him in?”

“How did he get into the mess?”

“What mess?”

“That’s what I want to know, too—­what mess?  I am told he fell into the water, striking his head against the side of a bridge, or of a church, or it doesn’t matter what, as he fell.  They haven’t thought it worth while to make up a good story.  But whether he was drunk, or whether he was escaping from the police, or what he was doing, nobody seems to know.  If I’d been consulted, if I hadn’t been treated as a cipher in the matter, he should have driven straight back to London again with the girl, and with Max himself.”

Mrs. Wedmore thought it better to say nothing to this, but to let her husband simmer down.  These ferocious utterances came from the lips only, as she very well knew, and might safely be disregarded.

Fortunately his attention was diverted at this point by the arrival of the doctor, who had been out on his rounds when they first sent for him.

Rather relieved to have a fresh person to pour out his complaints to, Mr. Wedmore hastened to give his old friend a somewhat confused account of the patient’s arrival and condition, in which “cheap, ready-made clothes,” “a bill for five guineas,” “a baggage of a girl” and “the police” were the prominent items.

But as for any details concerning the patient’s state of health and the reasons for his needing medical care, Doctor Haselden could learn nothing at all until he had prevailed upon Mr. Wedmore to let him see Dudley instead of listening to abuse of him.

Doctor Haselden was a long time in the sick-room, and when he came out he looked grave.  Mr. Wedmore, who met him outside the door, was annoyed.