"But my dear doctor—" said Frank.
"That's enough," said the other. "I was an old fool to think it possible—"
Frank interrupted again in his turn. (He was conscious of that extraordinary mental clearness that comes sometimes to convalescents, and he suddenly perceived there was something behind all this which had not yet made its appearance.)
"You've some reason for asking all this," he said. "I wish you'd tell me exactly what's in your mind."
The old man turned and looked at him with a kind of doubtful fixedness.
"Why do you say that, my boy?"
"People like you," said Frank smiling, "don't get excited over people like me, unless there's something.... I was at Cambridge, you know. I know the dons there, and—"
"Well, I'll tell you," said the doctor, drawing a long breath. "I hadn't meant to. I know it's mere nonsense; but—" He stopped an instant and called aloud: "Thomas! Thomas!"
Thomas's lean head, like a bird's, popped out from a window in the kitchen court behind.
"Come here a minute."