The butler, coming up, bent to whisper a word in his ear, and the communication caused a sudden change in Mr. Lavington’s expression. His face was naturally so colourless that it seemed not so much to pale as to fade, to dwindle and recede into something blurred and blotted-out. He half rose, sat down again and sent a rigid smile about the table.
“Will you excuse me? The telephone. Peters, go on with the dinner.” With small precise steps he walked out of the door which one of the footmen had thrown open.
A momentary silence fell on the group; then Mr. Grisben once more addressed himself to Rainer. “You ought to have gone, my boy; you ought to have gone.”
The anxious look returned to the youth’s eyes. “My uncle doesn’t think so, really.”
“You’re not a baby, to be always governed by your uncle’s opinion. You came of age to-day, didn’t you? Your uncle spoils you.... that’s what’s the matter....”
The thrust evidently went home, for Rainer laughed and looked down with a slight accession of colour.
“But the doctor—”
“Use your common sense, Frank! You had to try twenty doctors to find one to tell you what you wanted to be told.”
A look of apprehension overshadowed Rainer’, gaiety. “Oh, come—I say!... What would you do?” he stammered.
“Pack up and jump on the first train.” Mr. Grisben leaned forward and laid his hand kindly on the young man’s arm. “Look here: my nephew Jim Grisben is out there ranching on a big scale. He’ll take you in and be glad to have you. You say your new doctor thinks it won’t do you any good; but he doesn’t pretend to say it will do you harm, does he? Well, then—give it a trial. It’ll take you out of hot theatres and night restaurants, anyhow.... And all the rest of it.... Eh, Balch?”