«So handsome, I always think,» whispered the Duchess to Mr. Parker, «just exactly like William Morris, with that bush of hair and beard and those exciting eyes looking out of it — so splendid, these dear men always devoted to something or other — not but what I think socialism is a mistake — of course it works with all those nice people, so good and happy in art linen and the weather always perfect — Morris, I mean, you know — but so difficult in real life. Science is different — I'm sure if I had nerves I should go to Sir Julian just to look at him — eyes like that give one something to think about, and that's what most of these people want, only I never had any — nerves, I mean. Don't you think so?»
«You are Sir Julian Freke,» said the Coroner, «and live at St. Luke's House, Prince of Wales Road, Battersea, where you exercise a general direction over the surgical side of St. Luke's Hospital?»
Sir Julian assented briefly to this definition of his personality.
«You were the first medical man to see the deceased?»
«I was.»
«And you have since conducted an examination in collaboration with Dr. Grimbold of Scotland Yard?»
«I have.»
«You are in agreement as to the cause of death?»
«Generally speaking, yes.»
«Will you communicate your impressions to the jury?»