He stayed there an hour, although a very few words sufficed to tell him that his hope had become a certainty.  The President of the Scale Philosophic Society had cast off all his vagueness.  His wandering eyes steadied themselves to grip Majendie as they had gripped Majendie’s wife.  To Gardner Majendie, with his consuming innocence and anxiety, was, at the moment, by far the more interesting of the two.  The doctor brought all his grave lucidity to bear on Majendie’s case, and sent him away unspeakably consoled; giving him a piece of advice to take with him.  “If I were you,” said he, “I wouldn’t say anything about it until she speaks to you herself.  Better not let her know you’ve consulted me.”

In one hour Majendie had learnt more about his wife than he had found out in the year he had lived with her; and the doctor had found out more about Majendie than he had learnt in the ten years he had been practising in Scale.

And upstairs in her drawing-room, little Mrs. Gardner waited impatiently for her husband to come back and finish the very interesting conversation that Majendie had interrupted.

“Who is the fiend,” she said, “who’s been keeping you all this time?  One whole hour he’s been.”

“The fiend, my dear, is Mr. Majendie.”  The doctor’s face was thoughtful.

“Is he ill?”

“No; but I think he would have been if he hadn’t come to me.  I’ve been revising my opinion of Majendie to-night.  Between you and me, our friend the Canon is a very dangerous old woman.  Don’t you go and believe those tales he’s told you.”

“I don’t believe the tales,” said Mrs. Gardner, “but I can’t help believing poor Mrs. Majendie’s face. That tells a tale, if you like.”

“Poor Mrs. Majendie’s face is a face of poor Mrs. Majendie’s own making, I’m inclined to think.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Majendie would make faces.  I’m sure she isn’t happy.”

“Are you?  Well then, if you’re fond of her, I think you’d better try and see a little more of her, Rosy.  You can help her a good deal better than I can now.”

Professional honour forbade him to say more than that.  He passed to a more absorbing topic.

“I must say I can’t see the force of this fellow’s reasoning.  What’s that?”

“I thought I heard baby crying.”

“You didn’t.  It was the cat.  You must learn the difference, my dear.  Don’t you see that these pragmatists are putting the cart before the horse?  Conduct is one of the things to be explained.  How can you take it, then, as the ground of the explanation?”

“I don’t,” said Mrs. Gardner.

“But you do,” said Dr. Gardner.  It was in such bickerings that they lived and moved and had their happy being.  Each was the possessor of a strenuous soul, made harmless by its extreme simplicity.  They were united by their love of argument, divided only by their adoration of each other.  They now plunged with joy into the heart of a vast metaphysical contention; and Majendie, his conduct and the explanation of it, were forgotten until another cry was heard and, this time, Mrs. Gardner fled.