“Here’s the doctor, Miss Flint,” he said, “and I’ll wait for you outside.”

Victoria rose as young Dr. Tredway came forward.  They were old friends, and the doctor, it may be recalled, had been chiefly responsible for the preservation of the life of Mr. Zebulun Meader.

“I have sent for you, Doctor,” she said, “against instructions and on my own responsibility.  Mr. Vane is ill, although he refuses to admit it.”

Dr. Tredway had a respect for Victoria and her opinions, and he knew Hilary.  He opened the door a little wider, and looked critically at Mr. Vane.

“It’s nothing but a spell,” Hilary insisted.  “I’ve had ’em before.  I suppose it’s natural that they should scare the women-folks some.”

“What kind of a spell was it, Mr. Vane?” asked the doctor.

“It isn’t worth talking about,” said Hilary.  “You might as well pick up that case of yours and go home again.  I’m going down to the square in a little while.”

“You see,” Euphrasia put in, “he’s made up his mind to kill himself.”

“Perhaps,” said the doctor, smiling a little, “Mr. Vane wouldn’t object to Miss Flint telling me what happened.”

Victoria glanced at the doctor and hesitated.  Her sympathy for Hilary, her new understanding of him, urged her on—­and yet never in her life had she been made to feel so distinctly an intruder.  Here was the doctor, with his case; here was this extraordinary housekeeper, apparently ready to let Hilary walk to the square, if he wished, and to shut the door on their backs; and here was Hilary himself, who threatened at any moment to make his word good and depart from their midst.  Only the fact that she was convinced that Hilary was in real danger made her relate, in a few brief words, what had occurred, and when she had finished Mr. Vane made no comment whatever.

Dr. Tredway turned to Hilary.

“I am going to take a mean advantage of you, Mr. Vane,” he said, “and sit here awhile and talk to you.  Would you object to waiting a little while, Miss Flint?  I have something to say to you,” he added significantly, “and this meeting will save me a trip to Fairview.”

“Certainly I’ll wait,” she said.

“You can come along with me,” said Euphrasia, “if you’ve a notion to.”

Victoria was of two minds whether to accept this invitation.  She had an intense desire to get outside, but this was counter-balanced by a sudden curiosity to see more of this strange woman who loved but one person in the world.  Tom Gaylord had told Victoria that.  She followed Euphrasia to the back of the hall.

“There’s the parlour,” said Euphrasia; “it’s never be’n used since Mrs. Vane died,—­but there it is.”

“Oh,” said Victoria, with a glance into the shadowy depths of the room, “please don’t open it for me.  Can’t we go,” she added, with an inspiration, “can’t we go into—­the kitchen?” She knew it was Euphrasia’s place.