Henry explained the strange symptoms by which he was beset--the buzzings
in the head, the twitchings in the extremities, the creepings, as of
insects with iced legs, about the roots of the hair. His eyes shone with
the ardour of the determined valetudinarian closeted with one paid to
attend to his complaints.

And Mrs. Chepstow? Had she come? Was she sitting in the next room,
looking inattentively at the newest books?

"The most extraordinary matter in my case," continued Sir Henry, with
uplifted finger, "is the cold sweat that--"

The doctor interrupted him.

"My advice to you is this--"

"But I haven't explained to you about the cold sweat that--"

"My advice to you is this, Sir Henry. Don't think about yourself; walk
for an hour every day before breakfast, eat only two meals a day,
morning and evening, take at least eight hours' rest every night, give
up lounging about in your club, occupy yourself--with work for others,
if possible. I believe that to be the most tonic work there is--and I
see no reason why you should not be a centenarian."

"I--a centenarian?"

"Why not! There is nothing the matter with you, unless you think there
is."