"Yes; you were right after all, I didn't half believe in the scheme before he went, but you were right. And you've not seem him?"
"No. Clemente told me he was expected soon—which day I had forgotten. I have been rather overwhelmed this week."
"Seen nobody but a lot of sick folk, I suppose. That's the way with you doctors. Horribly dull life. But I say, Duncan, there's some mistake. I didn't send for you. It's a blunder. I'm all right—never felt better—don't need any physic—haven't an ache or a pain."
The other smiled. He had a pleasant smile, like Nigel's—hardly so brilliant, but also not so evanescent. The play of it lingered longer round his lips.
"No; I came for a word with you about somebody's health. Not your own."
"Nigel, to wit?"
"I have not seen Nigel. You say he is all right."
"Looked so, when I saw him in the dark—by lamplight, I mean. Well, what's wrong? Some old woman wanting a red cloak to cure 'rheumatiz'?"
"Not at this moment."
"An old man then?"