“Yes.  Frightful, isn’t it?  Lord bless me, we’re here to-day and gone to-morrow.”

“True, very true!”

“Sir Francis has a high opinion of you.”

The doctor looked a little foolish.  “Everything was done that could be done, Mr. Trefusis; but Mrs. Jansenius was very anxious that no stone should be left unturned.  She was good enough to say that her sole reason for wishing me to call in Sir Francis was that you should have no cause to complain.”

“Indeed!”

“An excellent mother!  A sad event for her!  Ah, yes, yes!  Dear me!  A very sad event!”

“Most disagreeable.  Such a cold day too.  Pleasanter to be in heaven than here in such weather, possibly.”

“Ah!” said the doctor, as if much sound comfort lay in that.  “I hope so; I hope so; I do not doubt it.  Sir Francis did not permit us to tell her, and I, of course, deferred to him.  Perhaps it was for the best.”

“You would have told her, then, if Sir Francis had not objected?”

“Well, there are, you see, considerations which we must not ignore in our profession.  Death is a serious thing, as I am sure I need not remind you, Mr. Trefusis.  We have sometimes higher duties than indulgence to the natural feelings of our patients.”

“Quite so.  The possibility of eternal bliss and the probability of eternal torment are consolations not to be lightly withheld from a dying girl, eh?  However, what’s past cannot be mended.  I have much to be thankful for, after all.  I am a young man, and shall not cut a bad figure as a widower.  And now tell me, doctor, am I not in very bad repute upstairs?”

“Mr. Trefusis!  Sir!  I cannot meddle in family matters.  I understand my duties and never over step them.”  The doctor, shocked at last, spoke as loftily as he could.

“Then I will go and see Mr. Jansenius,” said Trefusis, getting off the table.

“Stay, sir!  One moment.  I have not finished.  Mrs. Jansenius has asked me to ask—­I was about to say that I am not speaking now as the medical adviser of this family; but although an old friend—­and—­ahem!  Mrs. Jansenius has asked me to ask—­to request you to excuse Mr. Jansenius, as he is prostrated by grief, and is, as I can—­as a medical man—­assure you, unable to see anyone.  She will speak to you herself as soon as she feels able to do so—­at some time this evening.  Meanwhile, of course, any orders you may give—­you must be fatigued by your journey, and I always recommend people not to fast too long; it produces an acute form of indigestion—­any orders you may wish to give will, of course, be attended to at once.”

“I think,” said Trefusis, after a moment’s reflection, “I will order a hansom.”

“There is no ill-feeling,” said the doctor, who, as a slow man, was usually alarmed by prompt decisions, even when they seemed wise to him, as this one did.  “I hope you have not gathered from anything I have said—­”