entirely devoid of patients, and was living on the anticipated gains of a
great work on Clinical Psychology.

'Tell Dr. Maitland he will find me at luncheon if he comes instantly,'
said Merton as the boy fled on his errand. 'I see that I need not
introduce you to my young friends, Miss Blossom,' said Merton. 'May I
beg you to help Miss Apsley to arrange her tucker?'

Miss Blossom, almost unbecomingly brilliant in her complexion, did as she
was asked. Batsy had cold chicken, new potatoes, green peas, and two
helpings of apricot tart. Tommy devoted himself to cutlets. A very mild
shandygaff was compounded for him in an old Oriel pewter. Both children
made love to Miss Blossom with their eyes. It was not at all what Merton
felt inclined to do; the lady had entangled him in a labyrinth of
puzzledom.

'None-so-pretty,' exclaimed Tommy, 'I am glad you told us to come here.
Your friends are nice.'

Merton bowed to Tommy, 'I am glad too,' he said. 'Miss Blossom knew that
we were kindred souls, same kind of chaps, I mean, you and me, you know,
Tommy!'

Miss Blossom became more and more like the fabled peony, the crimson
variety. Luckily the office boy ushered in Dr. Maitland, who, exchanging
glances of surprise with Merton, over the children's heads, began to make
himself agreeable. He had nearly as many tricks as Miss Maskelyne. He
was doing the short-sighted man eating celery, and unable to find the
salt because he is unable to find his eyeglass.