Smith said nothing, but his cheek twitched once.  “Come now!” pressed the Doctor persuasively.  “See what a lovely day it is.  Sun, fresh air, the smell and sight of the fields—­it’ll put fresh life into you.”

Smith’s white face worked slightly.  “Ere,” he said, and paused.  The Doctor bent forward, pleased.  “Go to ’ell!” said Smith thoughtfully.

Mary had much more success with him; a slender link of sympathy had established itself between the healthy, tranquil girl and this dreary wisp of a man.  She asked him no questions, and in return for her forbearance he would sometimes speak to her voluntarily.  He would emerge from his trance-like apathy to watch her as she went about her household duties.  Professor Fish had spoken truly when he said that Mary Pond knew how to create about her an atmosphere of serenity.  The tones of her quiet voice, the gentleness of her movements, the kindly sobriety of her regard seemed to fortify her patient.  For her part, a genuine compassion for the little man was mixed with some liking; he was a furtive and vulgar creature at the best, but his dependence on her, his helplessness and trouble, reached to the maternal in her honest heart.  She could manage him; but for her strategy he would have lived in his bed, day and night, in a sort of half torpor.

“It’s remarkable what a control you have over these low natures, Mary,” Dr. Pond said to her.  He had come home one afternoon to find that she had actually sent Smith out for a walk.  “I confess it’s a case that’s beyond me altogether.  There doesn’t seem to be any thing to take hold of in the man.  It would be better if he felt a little pain now and again; it would give one an opening, as it were.”

Seated in a low chair in the window, Mary was hemming dusters.  She looked up at him thoughtfully.

“Father,” she said, “what do you think was the matter with him in the first place?  What was the disease that Professor Fish cured?”

Dr. Pond shook his white head vaguely.

“Impossible to say,” he answered.  “It looks like, a mental case, doesn’t it?  And yet——­You see, Fish has had so many specialities.  He was in practice in Harley Street as a nerve man.  Then, next thing, one hears of him in heart surgery.  He’s had a go at electricity lately.  And between you and me—­he’s a great man, of course—­but if it wasn’t for his position and all that, we’d be calling him a quack.”

“Then you can’t tell what the disease was?” persisted Mary.

“No,” said Dr. Pond.  “Nor even if there was a disease.  For all I know, Fish may have been vivisecting him.  He wouldn’t stop at a thing like that, if I know anything about him.”

“He ought to have told us,” said Mary.

“Yes,” agreed the Doctor.  “But Fish always does as he likes.  How long has Smith been out now, Mary?”

“He went out at three,” she answered.  “And now it’s half-past five.  He ought to be in.  I think I’ll put my hat on, father, and go after him.”