"Oh, get out!" said Abinger. "Is your name Max Nordau, perhaps?"
"Or are you Mr. Lecky?" derided Carson.
"Ah, well, you fellows can laugh, but it would be a good scheme all the same. Capron, now——"
Without warning of either foot or voice the last-named person at this moment appeared in the doorway with a debonair smile upon his lips, the figure of Ferrand behind him.
"Capron, now—is thirsty," said he. "And what was the interesting remark you were about to make, Brammie, my dear?"
"Only just that," Bramham responded serenely. "That you were probably thirsty—as usual. Help yourself—and you, Ferrand."
They drank and were seated, and all smoked, less peacefully now, but more reflectively. Capron appeared to be the only person afflicted with gaieté de cœur.
"What do you men think?" he demanded. "I went with Ferrand to see his patient at the Royal—he's actually got a patient!—and what do you suppose I saw while I was waiting for him in Ulundi Square?"
The others remained calm and incurious.
"A stunning girl. Just arrived by to-day's mail-boat I found, upon discreet inquiry, in the office. You fellows ought to see her. She swung herself through that square like a yacht in full-rig. The funny part of it is that I saw her in Durban a year or two back, and she was pretty then; but now, by Gad! she has a face that would set any man's blood on fire."