next day, and should not be back for six weeks.

"But what shall I do while you are away?" cried his patient, aghast.

"You have advanced beyond my utmost expectations," replied the doctor,
"and the best thing for you now will be to go out to Vichy, and take a
course of the waters there. I should have recommended this in any case.
My intended departure makes no difference. Let me earnestly advise you to
start for France to-morrow."

Sir Arthur had by this time developed a blind faith in Sir Ronald
Tompkins and did not dream of ignoring his suggestion. He threw over all
the engagements he had made since arriving in England; packed his trunks
once more; and, if he did not actually leave the country until two or
three days later, it was only because he was not able to get a sleeping
berth on the night express at such short notice.

The end of the week saw him installed at Vichy, the most assiduous and
conscientious of all the water drinkers assembled there.

It was on the veranda of his hotel that he made the acquaintance of
Mrs. Meredith.

She was twenty-five, rich, beautiful and a widow, her husband having been
accidentally killed within a few months of their marriage. After a year
or so of mourning she had recovered her spirits, and led a gay life in
English society, where she was very much in request.

Sir Arthur had seen few attractive women of late, the ladies of Baku
being inclined to run to fat and diamonds, and he thought Lena Meredith