"We'll chance it. I'll bring the car round. Shan't keep you a minute, Mr Tarn."
I kept him rather longer than that. There were the lamps to see to, and I had directions to give to my servants. I did not take my driver with me. He had been at work since eight in the morning. When I re-entered the surgery I found Tarn still standing in just the same pose and place, as if he had not moved a hair's-breadth since I left him.
"Ready now," I said, as I picked up my bag.
He took out a pinch of sovereigns from his waistcoat-pocket, seven or eight of them.
"Your fee, doctor," he said.
"That can wait until I've done my work. Come along. Shall I lend you an overcoat?"
He thanked me but refused it, saying that he was used to all weathers. The night was fairly warm too. He sat beside me on the front seat. The first six miles were easy enough along a good road, and I talked to him as I drove. I omit the professional part of our conversation—the questions which a doctor would naturally put on such an occasion.
"So your wife's a foreigner," I said. "What nationality?"
"She is a woman of colour—a negress."
It is true that all coloured people inspire me with a feeling of physical repulsion, and equally true that I can set all feelings of repulsion aside when there is work to be done.