Meanwhile the assistant and some helpers were doing the same service for Geoffrey Bingham, the doctor himself, a thin clever-looking man, occasionally stepping across the passage to direct them and see how things were getting on.  Now, although Geoffrey had been in the water the longer, his was by far the better case, for when he was immersed he was already insensible, and a person in this condition is very hard to drown.  It is your struggling, fighting, breathing creature who is soonest made an end of in deep waters.  Therefore it came to pass that when the scrubbing with hot cloths and the artificial respiration had gone on for somewhere about twenty minutes, Geoffrey suddenly crooked a finger.  The doctor’s assistant, a buoyant youth fresh from the hospitals, gave a yell of exultation, and scrubbed and pushed away with ever-increasing energy.  Presently the subject coughed, and a minute later, as the agony of returning life made itself felt, he swore most heartily.

“He’s all right now!” called the assistant to his employer.  “He’s swearing beautifully.”

Dr. Chambers, pursuing his melancholy and unpromising task in the other room, smiled sadly, and called to the assistant to continue the treatment, which he did with much vigour.

Presently Geoffrey came partially to life, still suffering torments.  The first thing he grew aware of was that a tall elegant woman was standing over him, looking at him with a half puzzled and half horrified air.  Vaguely he wondered who it might be.  The tall form and cold handsome face were so familiar to him, and yet he could not recall the name.  It was not till she spoke that his numbed brain realized that he was looking on his own wife.

“Well, dear,” she said, “I am so glad that you are better.  You frightened me out of my wits.  I thought you were drowned.”

“Thank you, Honoria,” he said faintly, and then groaned as a fresh attack of tingling pain shook him through and through.

“I hope nobody said anything to Effie,” Geoffrey said presently.

“Yes, the child would not go to bed because you were not back, and when the policeman came she heard him tell Mrs. Jones that you were drowned, and she has been almost in a fit ever since.  They had to hold her to prevent her from running here.”

Geoffrey’s white face assumed an air of the deepest distress.  “How could you frighten the child so?” he murmured.  “Please go and tell her that I am all right.”

“It was not my fault,” said Lady Honoria with a shrug of her shapely shoulders.  “Besides, I can do nothing with Effie.  She goes on like a wild thing about you.”

“Please go and tell her, Honoria,” said her husband.

“Oh, yes, I’ll go,” she answered.  “Really I shall not be sorry to get out of this; I begin to feel as though I had been drowned myself;” and she looked at the steaming cloths and shuddered.  “Good-bye, Geoffrey.  It is an immense relief to find you all right.  The policeman made me feel quite queer.  I can’t get down to give you a kiss or I would.  Well, good-bye for the present, my dear.”