"Ah, I see you're American. No, Canadian, is it? Well, it's pleasant having someone here who speaks English."
Dr. Sartorius had come forward with a more cordial manner than he usually displayed. He positively smiled as he took Miss Clifford's hand.
"Well, you're not looking very ill," he remarked in a tone almost jovial. "Don't try to tell me there's anything the matter with you. I'll refuse to believe it."
"Oh, heavens, no, I'm all right," laughed Miss Clifford agreeably.
"It's this tiresome brother of mine who's been bothering us a bit.
He's been feeling seedy for several days, haven't you, Charlie?"
Sir Charles shook his head, though whether in dissent or simply out of an ingrained desire to contradict was not apparent.
"Feeling seedy, has he? Well, and what seems to be the trouble?" inquired the doctor with that sort of purring patter which one can readily believe to be the first thing learned by a student of medicine. "Caught a slight chill, perhaps? The weather's been a bit tricky."
"Ah, I think it is that," put in the Frenchwoman eagerly. "That
Wednesday at the polo, Charles, when it came on to rain…."
"Not a bit of it," denied her husband positively. "If it comes to that, I had all these feelings before I ever thought of going to the polo."
"I begged him to let me send for you, doctor, but you know what he is like," interpolated Miss Clifford. "He hates to admit he is ill."
"What sort of feelings?" blandly inquired the doctor.