Dr. Rendall. What a convenient spot to own!"

I still threw a touch of significance into my remark--especially on the
word "convenient"--but this time I got a wholly unexpected answer.

"But I am sorry to say I don't own it," said the doctor. "I am afraid you
must be mistaking me for my cousin, Philip Rendall. He's the laird; I'm
only the doctor."

"The damned doctor," added Mr. O'Brien with a grin.

I began to apologise, but O'Brien who was by this time in capital
spirits, interrupted me with,

"Faith, you needn't apologise, Mr. Merton. As long as you're not one of
my damned relations I'm delighted to see you, and the doctor here is
always pining for a fresh face. He's getting sick of mine!"

This remark seemed to have a spice of malice behind it, and the doctor
certainly frowned, but I was so anxious to seize this opportunity of
putting a question or two that I did not stop to wonder what was implied;
not, at least, till afterwards.

"I suppose you have little society in this charming island?" I suggested.

O'Brien was certainly ready enough to give me exactly the information I
was after.

"There are just four civilised houses in the whole place, counting this,"
said he. "There's the laird's--and saving the dear doctor's presence I