Susan Hetth rose.

She had always intensely disliked her brother-in-law's old friend,
failing utterly to perceive the heart of gold studded with rare gems
that was hidden under a bushel of intentional brusqueness.

But as she was under an obligation to him she decided to make herself
as pleasant as possible, and to obey his orders, however irksome.

Great brain specialist, great philanthropist, she had rung him up in a
panic that morning after having vainly ransacked her memory for some
other human being in whom she could with safety confide her fear, and
from whom she could expect some meed of succour.

She knew, as everybody knew, that years ago he had given up the hours
of consultation which had seen his Harley Street waiting-room filled to
overflowing; that little by little, bit by bit, indeed, he had given
himself up entirely to research work, travelling in every quarter of
the globe in his quest for the knowledge necessary to the alleviation
of the mental troubles of his fellow-beings. And that when he found it
or some part of it he had hurried home, and having brought it to as
near a state of perfection as possible, had flung it broad-cast to the
suffering; just as he flung the immense sums of money he made among the
destitute for whom he loved to work without thought of the morrow.

A genuine case of trouble he had never been known to dismiss, and Susan
Hetth had heaved a sigh of relief into the receiver when he fixed an
immediate appointment.

The spook of fear is not the cheeriest companion of the early cup of