"Is--is it--dangerous?" he stammered, trying in vain to appear
indifferent.

Sir Ronald Tompkins, F.R.C.S., etc. etc., let slip a smile; and then,
remembering his reputation, changed it to a look of grave sympathy.

"No," he murmured, "no, no. There is no danger. I should say, no
immediate danger. Still you did right, quite right, in coming to me.
Taken in time, and in the proper way, this delicacy of yours will, I have
no hesitation in saying, give way to treatment. I assure you, my dear Sir
Arthur, that I have cured many worse cases than yours. I will write you
out a little prescription. Just a little pill, perfectly pleasant to the
taste, which you must swallow when you feel this alarming depression and
lack of appetite of which you complain; and I am confident that we shall
soon notice an improvement. Above all, my dear Sir, no worry; no anxiety.
Lead a quiet, open-air life; play golf; avoid bathing in cold water;
avoid soup, potatoes, puddings and alcohol; and come and see me again
this day fortnight. Thank you, yes, two guineas. _Good_-bye."

He pressed Sir Arthur's hand, and shepherded him out of the room.

His patient departed, impressed, soothed and comforted.

After the two weeks had passed, and feeling decidedly better, he
returned.

Sir Ronald on this occasion was absolutely cheerful. He expressed himself
astonished at the improvement, and enthusiastic on the subject of the
excellence of his own advice. He then broke to Sir Arthur the fact that
he was about to take his annual holiday. He was starting for Norway the