“I understand, my dear Therne,” he said, “that there is an interesting event expected in your family.”

I replied that this was so.

“Well,” he went on, “though we may differ on some points, I am sure there is one upon which we shall agree—­that no man should doctor his own flesh and blood.  Now, look here, I want you to let me attend upon your good wife.  However much you go-ahead young fellows may turn up your noses at us old fossils, I think you will admit that by this time I ought to be able to show a baby into the world, especially as I had the honour of performing that office for yourself, my young friend.”

For a moment I hesitated.  What Sir John said was quite true; he was a sound and skilful obstetrician of the old school.  Moreover, he evidently intended to hold out the olive branch by this kind offer, which I felt that I ought to accept.  Already, having conquered in the fray, I forgave him the injuries that he had worked me.  It is not in my nature to bear unnecessary malice—­indeed, I hate making or having an enemy.  And yet I hesitated, not from any premonition or presentiment of the dreadful events that were to follow, but simply because of my wife’s objection to being attended by any one but myself.  I thought of advancing this in excuse of a refusal, but checked myself, because I was sure that he would interpret it as a rebuff, and in consequence hate me more bitterly than ever.  So in the end I accepted his offer gratefully, and we parted.

When I told Emma she was a little upset, but being a sensible woman she soon saw the force of my arguments and fell in with the situation.  In truth, unselfish creature that she was, she thought more of the advantage that would accrue to me by this formal burying of the hatchet than of her own prejudices or convenience.

The time came and with it Sir John Bell, large, sharp-eyed, and jocose.  In due course and under favourable conditions a daughter was born to me, a very beautiful child, fair like her mother, but with my dark eyes.

I think it was on the fourth day from the birth of the child that I went after luncheon to see my wife, who so far had done exceedingly well.  I found her depressed, and she complained of headache.  Just then the servant arrived saying that I was wanted in the consulting-room, so I kissed Emma and, after arranging her bed-clothing and turning her over so that she might lie more comfortably, I hurried downstairs, telling her that she had better go to sleep.

While I was engaged with my visitor Sir John Bell came to see my wife.  Just as the patient had gone and Sir John was descending the stairs a messenger hurried in with a note summoning me instantly to attend upon Lady Colford, the wife of a rich banker and baronet who, I knew, was expecting her first confinement.  Seizing my bag I started, and, as I reached the front door, I thought that I heard Sir John, who was now nearly at the foot of the stairs, call out something to me.  I answered that I couldn’t stop but would see him later, to which I understood him to reply “All right.”