"Mr. Delamayn," he said, "you were invited here in the character of a
gentleman, and you are a guest in a lady's house."

"No! no!" said the surgeon, good humoredly. "Mr. Delamayn is using a
strong argument, Sir Patrick--and that is all. If I _were_ twenty years
younger," he went on, addressing himself to Geoffrey, "and if I _did_
step out on the lawn with you, the result wouldn't affect the question
between us in the least. I don't say that the violent bodily exercises
in which you are famous have damaged your muscular power. I assert that
they have damaged your vital power. In what particular way they have
affected it I don't consider myself bound to tell you. I simply give
you a warning, as a matter of common humanity. You will do well to
be content with the success you have already achieved in the field of
athletic pursuits, and to alter your mode of life for the future.
Accept my excuses, once more, for having said this publicly instead of
privately--and don't forget my warning."

He turned to move away to another part of the room. Geoffrey fairly
forced him to return to the subject.

"Wait a bit," he said. "You have had your innings. My turn now. I can't
give it words as you do; but I can come to the point. And, by the Lord,
I'll fix you to it! In ten days or a fortnight from this I'm going into
training for the Foot-Race at Fulham. Do you say I shall break down?"

"You will probably get through your training."

"Shall I get through the race?"

"You may _possibly_ get through the race. But if you do--"