"Harley Street, was it?"

"Yes."

"Saw you on his doorstep, by Jove!" cried Rattray at once. "I was
driving over to Hampstead, and I thought it was you. Well, what's
the prescription?"

In my satisfaction at finding that he had not been dogging me
intentionally (though I had forgotten the incident till he reminded
me of it), I answered his question with unusual fulness.

"I should go abroad," said Rattray. "But then, I always am abroad;
it's only the other day I got back from South America, and I shall
up anchor again before this filthy English winter sets in.

Was he a sailor after all, or only a well-to-do wanderer on the face
of the earth? He now mentioned that he was only in England for a
few weeks, to have a look at his estate, and so forth; after which
he plunged into more or less enthusiastic advocacy of this or that
foreign resort, as opposed to the English cottage upon which I told
him I had set my heart.

He was now, however, less spontaneous, I thought, than earlier in
the night. His voice had lost its hearty ring, and he seemed
preoccupied, as if talking of one matter while he thought upon
another. Yet he would not let me go; and presently he confirmed my
suspicion, no less than my first impression of his delightful
frankness and cordiality, by candidly telling me what was on his mind.