"Little, as you see, but quite enough for us two. Now, take the
easy-chair, old fellow, and let's have another look at you! Well, you
do look a bit pulled down!" and he put on a solemn professional air.
"I prescribe Ozone, quant. suff. Social dissipation, fiant pilulae
quam plurimae: to be taken, feasting, three times a day!"
"But, Doctor!" I remonstrated. "Society doesn't 'receive' three times a
day!"
"That's all you know about it!" the young Doctor gaily replied.
"At home, lawn-tennis, 3 P.M. At home, kettledrum, 5 P.M.
At home, music (Elveston doesn't give dinners), 8 P.M. Carriages at 10.
There you are!"
It sounded very pleasant, I was obliged to admit. "And I know some of
the lady-society already," I added. "One of them came in the same
carriage with me"
"What was she like? Then perhaps I can identify her."
"The name was Lady Muriel Orme. As to what she was like--well, I
thought her very beautiful. Do you know her?"
"Yes--I do know her." And the grave Doctor coloured slightly as he
added "Yes, I agree with you. She is beautiful."
"I quite lost my heart to her!" I went on mischievously. "We talked--"
"Have some supper!" Arthur interrupted with an air of relief, as the
maid entered with the tray. And he steadily resisted all my attempts to
return to the subject of Lady Muriel until the evening had almost worn
itself away. Then, as we sat gazing into the fire, and conversation was
lapsing into silence, he made a hurried confession.
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