'It was rather bleak--the wind; and, I think, perhaps, I had had
a touch of influenza. It was a silly thing to do. But still, Dr
Simon, one doesn't expect--well, there, I don't feel the same
man--physically. I really cannot explain how great a change has
taken place. And yet I feel perfectly fit in myself. And if it
were not for--for being laughed at, go back to town, to-day. Why
my wife scarcely recognised me.'

Dr Simon continued his scrutiny. Try as he would, Lawford could
not raise his downcast eyes to meet direct the doctor's polite
attention.

'And what,' said Dr Simon, 'what precisely is the nature of the
change? Have you any pain?'

'No, not the least pain,' said Lawford; 'I think, perhaps, or
rather my face is a little shrunken--and yet lengthened; at
least it feels so; and a faint twinge of rheumatism. But my
hair--well, I don't know; it's difficult to say one's self.' He
could get on so very much better, he thought, if only his mind
would be at peace and these preposterous promptings and voices
were still.

Dr Simon faced the window, and drew his hand softly over his
head. 'We never can be too cautious at a certain age, and
especially after influenza,' he said. 'It undermines the whole
system, and in particular the nervous system; leaving the mind
the prey of the most melancholy fancies. I should astound you, Mr
Lawford, with the devil influenza plays.... A slight nervous shock
and a chill; quite slight, I hope. A few days' rest and plenty of