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"That we shall see," retorted the major, vexed by the sarcasm, and thereupon gave Etwald to understand by look and manner that he wished to be alone with David. When the doctor had taken himself off, and was walking past the library windows toward the curve of the avenue where it ran into the woods, Jen looked after him with a lowering face, and laid an inquiring finger on David's arm. "We didn't have one till this winter," she said cheerfully. "So I guess we appreciate him for all he's worth." "What do you mean, major?".

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As Jen anticipated, he found that Jaggard had recovered from his faint, and having had a sleep during the long absence of his master, was much better. As usual, Anne, the ill-favored housemaid, was watching by his bedside; but on a sign from Jen, she left the room. Finding himself alone with his servant, Jen addressed himself immediately to the business in hand. "Fine! Fine!" he cried, nodding his head approvingly. "That beats them all! My wife, she used to sing that song, and I liked it fine, but you beat them all!" He was tall, he was thin, with a dark, lean face, and fiery watchful dark eyes. For three years he had been wasting his talents in the neighboring town of Deanminster; when, if intellect were in question, he should have been shouldering his way above the crowd of mediocrities in London. The man was dispassionate, brilliant and persevering; he had in him the makings not only of a great physician, but of a great man; and he was wasting his gifts in a dull provincial town. He was unpopular in Deanminster, owing to the absence of what is termed "a good bedside manner," and the invalids of the cathedral city and Hurstleigh, for he had patients in both places, resented his brusque ways and avoidance of their scandal-mongering tea parties. Also he was a mystery; than which there can be no greater sin in provincial eyes. No one knew who Etwald was, or whence he came, or why he wasted his talents in the desert of Deanminster; and such secret past which he declined to yield up to the most persistent questioner, accentuated the distrust caused by his sombre looks and curt speeches. Provincial society is intolerant of originality. "He was awfully nice," said Patricia enthusiastically. "Architects are so much better scrubbed than art students. He has lovely hair, too. He's tremendously fond of Miriam Halden, did you notice?".