Walpole. {Most enjoyable. 
B. B. {Delightful.  Charming.  Unforgettable.

Mrs Dubedat [with a touch of shy anxiety] What did you think of
Louis?  Or am I wrong to ask?

Ridgeon.  Wrong!  Why, we are all charmed with him.

Walpole.  Delighted.

B. B. Most happy to have met him.  A privilege, a real privilege.

Sir Patrick [grunts]!

Mrs Dubedat [quickly] Sir Patrick:  are you uneasy about him?

Sir Patrick [discreetly] I admire his drawings greatly, maam.

Mrs Dubedat.  Yes; but I meant—­

Ridgeon.  You shall go away quite happy.  He’s worth saving.  He must and shall be saved.

Mrs Dubedat rises and gasps with delight, relief, and gratitude.  They all rise except Sir Patrick and Schutzmacher, and come reassuringly to her.

B. B. Certainly, CER-tainly.

Walpole.  Theres no real difficulty, if only you know what to do.

Mrs Dubedat.  Oh, how can I ever thank you!  From this night I can begin to be happy at last.  You dont know what I feel.

She sits down in tears.  They crowd about her to console her.

B. B. My dear lady:  come come! come come! [very persuasively] come come!

Walpole.  Dont mind us.  Have a good cry.

Ridgeon.  No:  dont cry.  Your husband had better not know that weve been talking about him.

Mrs Dubedat [quickly pulling herself together] No, of course not.  Please dont mind me.  What a glorious thing it must be to be a doctor! [They laugh].  Dont laugh.  You dont know what youve done for me.  I never knew until now how deadly afraid I was—­how I had come to dread the worst.  I never dared let myself know.  But now the relief has come:  now I know.

Louis Dubedat comes from the hotel, in his overcoat, his throat wrapped in a shawl.  He is a slim young man of 23, physically still a stripling, and pretty, though not effeminate.  He has turquoise blue eyes, and a trick of looking you straight in the face with them, which, combined with a frank smile, is very engaging.  Although he is all nerves, and very observant and quick of apprehension, he is not in the least shy.  He is younger than Jennifer; but he patronizes her as a matter of course.  The doctors do not put him out in the least:  neither Sir Patrick’s years nor Bloomfield Bonington’s majesty have the smallest apparent effect on him:  he is as natural as a cat:  he moves among men as most men move among things, though he is intentionally making himself agreeable to them on this occasion.  Like all people who can be depended on to take care of themselves, he is welcome company; and his artist’s power of appealing to the imagination gains him credit for all sorts of qualities and powers, whether he possesses them or not.