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of a sick man’s relatives. He must see through their sym-
pathetic expressions. Philip, with a faint smile at his own
hypocrisy, cast down his eyes.
‘I suppose he’s in no immediate danger?’
This was the kind of question the doctor hated. If you
said a patient couldn’t live another month the family pre-
pared itself for a bereavement, and if then the patient lived
on they visited the medical attendant with the resentment
they felt at having tormented themselves before it was nec-
essary. On the other hand, if you said the patient might live
a year and he died in a week the family said you did not
know your business. They thought of all the affection they
would have lavished on the defunct if they had known the
end was so near. Dr. Wigram made the gesture of washing
his hands.
‘I don’t think there’s any grave risk so long as he—re-
mains as he is,’ he ventured at last. ‘But on the other hand,
we mustn’t forget that he’s no longer a young man, and well,
the machine is wearing out. If he gets over the hot weath-
er I don’t see why he shouldn’t get on very comfortably till
the winter, and then if the winter does not bother him too
much, well, I don’t see why anything should happen.’
Philip went back to the dining-room where his uncle
was sitting. With his skull-cap and a crochet shawl over
his shoulders he looked grotesque. His eyes had been fixed
on the door, and they rested on Philip’s face as he entered.
Philip saw that his uncle had been waiting anxiously for his
return.
‘Well, what did he say about me?’

0 Of Human Bondage