an uneasy and rather glowering aspect.

"Oh no, no!" answered Beaumaroy. "A matter of weeks only. But the dear
old fellow seemed to take to me--a friend put us in touch originally. I
seem to be able to do just what he wants."

"I hope your friend is not really ill, not seriously?" This time the
question was Mrs. Naylor's, not Miss Delia's.

"His health is really not so bad, but," he gave a glance round the
company, as though inviting their understanding, "he insists that he's
not the man he was."

"Absurd!" smiled Naylor. "Not much older than I am, is he?"

"Only just turned seventy, I believe. But the idea's very persistent."

"Hypochondria!" snapped Miss Delia.

"Not altogether. I'm afraid there is a little real heart trouble. Dr.
Irechester--"

"Oh, with Dr. Irechester, dear Mr. Beaumaroy, you're all right!"

Again Beaumaroy's glance--that glance of innocent appeal--ranged over the
company (except the General, out of its reach). He seemed troubled and
embarrassed.

"A most accomplished man, evidently, and a friend of yours, of course.
But, well, there it is, a mere fancy, of course, but unhappily my old