"Ah, you runagate!" scolded the other. "What d'you mean by it?"
The doctor nodded at the window.
A beautiful young woman with chestnut hair, bare to the sun, was walking with extreme deliberation across the lawn, leaning on the arm of a nurse.
"That's one reason," he said.
The other gazed.
"Yes; you've given her the right setting," he remarked at last in a strangely quiet voice, touched with melancholy.
A greyhound emerged from a shrubbery and crossed the lawn after the two women at a stealthy trot.
"That's another," said Mr. Trupp.
"Sport!" cried the other. "Bah!—and you might have been a great man!—a credit to the Whitechapel. What's the next?"
"Professional," grunted the Doctor.