"Murchison will be the next to go, I expect."

"Possibly," returned Hardy, with affected calmness.

"Blaikie was saying something about it this morning," resumed Swann,
regarding him from half-closed lids, "but he was punching and tapping me
all about the ribs while he was talking, and I didn't catch all he said,
but I think it's all arranged. Murchison is there nearly every day, I
understand; I suppose you meet him there?"

Mr. Hardy, whistling softly, rose and walked round the room, uncorking
medicine bottles and sniffing at their contents. A smile of unaffected
pleasure lit up his features as he removed the stopper from one
particularly pungent mixture.

[Illustration: "Sniffing at their contents."]

"Two tablespoonfuls three times a day," he read, slowly. "When did you
have the last, Swann? Shall I ring for the nurse?"

The invalid shook his head impatiently. "You're an ungrateful dog," he
muttered, "or you would tell me how your affair is going. Have you got
any chance?"

"You're getting light-headed now," said Hardy, calmly. "I'd better go."

"All right, go then," responded the invalid; "but if you lose that girl
just for the want of a little skilled advice from an expert, you'll never
forgive yourself--I'm serious."