Almost as unusual," Crawshay
concluded with a little bow, "as the fact of his being escorted by the
most distinguished amateur nurse in the world, and a physician of such
distinction as Doctor--Doctor--Dear me, how extraordinary! For the
moment I must confess that your name has escaped me."
The heavy-browed man leaned forward a little deliberately towards his
_vis-a-vis_. His was not an attractive personality. His features were
large and of bulldog type. His forehead was low, and his eyes, which
gave one the impression of being clear and penetrating, were concealed
by heavy spectacles. His hands only, which were well-shaped and cared
for, might have indicated his profession.
"My name," he said, "is Gant--Doctor James H. Gant. You are not, I
presume, a medical man yourself?"
Crawshay shook his head.
"A most admirable profession," he declared, "but one which I should
never have the nerve to follow."
"You do not, therefore, appreciate the fact," Doctor Gant continued,
"that a medical man, especially one connected with a hospital of such
high standing as St. Agnes's, does not discuss his patient's ailments
with strangers."
"No offence, Doctor--no offence," Crawshay protested across the table.
"Mine is just the natural interest in a fellow sufferer of a man who
has known most of the ailments to which we weak humans are subject.
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