Varick now looked far more really ill than did either Bubbles or Bill Donnington.
The doctor recalled a certain terrible day, rather over a year ago, when Varick had broken down utterly! It was the afternoon that poor Milly was being put into her coffin; and, by sheer good luck he, Panton, happened to call in.

He had found Varick sitting alone, looking very desolate, in the dining-room of the commonplace little villa, while from overhead there came the sounds of heavy feet moving this way and that.
All at once there had come a loud knock at the front door, and Varick, starting up, had uttered a fearful cry.

Then, sitting down again, he had begun trembling, as if he had the ague.

He, Panton, had been so concerned at the poor fellow's condition that he had insisted, there and then, on taking him along to his own house, and he had kept him there as his guest till the day of Mrs.Varick's funeral.
As these memories came crowding on him, the door of his room opened quietly, and the man who was filling his mind walked in.
Varick was already dressed for dinner, and, not for the first time, the doctor told himself what a distinguished-looking man his friend and host was.
"Panton," said Varick abruptly, "I have something on my mind." The doctor looked up, surprised.

"What is it, my dear fellow ?" he asked kindly.
"I can't help thinking that in some inexplicable way I pushed Bubbles Dunster over the edge of that embankment.