Suddenly she sat up and put her hand on his shoulder, in a sort of appeal, vaguely smiling.  He tried to smile, but could not.  Then her hand dropped.  A totally bewildered expression veiled the anxious kindness in her eyes.  The blood left her face until her cheeks were nearly as white as the embroidered cloth on the night-tabla.  Her eyes closed.  She fell back.  She had fainted.  She was just as if dead.  Her hand was as cold as the hand of a corpse.

Such was Mr. Prohack’s vast experience of life that he had not the least idea what to do in this crisis.  But he tremendously regretted that Angmering, Bishop, and the inventor of the motor-car had ever been born.  He rushed out on to the landing and loudly shouted:  “Machin!  Machin!  Ring up that d——­d doctor again, and if he can’t come ring up Dr. Plott at once.”

“Yes, sir.  Yes, sir.”

He rushed back into the bedroom, discovered Eve’s smelling-salts, and held them to her nose.  Already the blood was mounting again.

“Well, she’s not dead, anyway!” he said to himself grimly.

He could see the blood gently mounting, mounting.  It was a wonderful, a mysterious and a reassuring sight.

“I don’t care so long as she isn’t injured internally,” he said to himself.

Eve opened her eyes in a dazed look.  Then she grinned as if apologetically.  Then she cried copiously.

Mr. Prohack heard a car outside.  It was Dr. Veiga’s.  The mere sound of Dr. Veiga’s car soothed Mr. Prohack, accused him of losing his head, and made a man of him.

Dr. Veiga entered the bedroom in exactly the same style as on his first visit to Mr. Prohack himself.  He had heard the nature of the case from Machin on his way upstairs.  He listened to Mr. Prohack, who spoke, in the most deceitful way, as if he had been through scores of such affairs.

“Exactly,” said Dr. Veiga, examining Eve summarily.  “She sat up.  The blood naturally left her head, and she fainted.  Fainting is nothing but a withdrawing of blood from the head.  Will you ring for that servant of yours, please?”

“I’m positive I’m quite all right, Doctor,” Eve murmured.

“Will you kindly not talk,” said he.  “If you’re so positive you’re all right, why did you send for me?  Did you walk upstairs?  Then your legs aren’t broken, at least not seriously.”  He laughed softly.

But shortly afterwards, when Mr. Prohack, admirably dissembling his purposes, crept with dignity out of the room, Dr. Veiga followed him, and shut the door, leaving Machin busy within.

“I don’t think that there is any internal lesion,” said Dr. Veiga, with seriousness.  “But I will not yet state absolutely.  She has had a very severe shock and her nerves are considerably jarred.”

“But it’s nothing physical?”

“My dear sir, of course it’s physical.  Do you conceive the nerves are not purely physical organs?  I can’t conceive them as anything but physical organs.  Can you?”