'Capital! Hadn't you better walk in that direction this afternoon?'
'Yes, perhaps I had, and yet, you know, I hate to have it supposed that I am hovering about him.'
'All the same, go.'
Shergold pointed to a chair. 'Sit down a bit. I have been having a talk with Dr. Salmon. He discourages me a good deal. You know it's far from certain that I shall go on with medicine.'
'Far from certain!' the other assented, smiling. 'By the bye, I hear that you have been in the world of late. You were at Lady Teasdale's not long ago.'
'Well—yes—why not?'
Perhaps it was partly his vexation at the book incident,—Shergold seemed unable to fix his thoughts on anything; he shuffled in his seat and kept glancing nervously towards the door.
'I was delighted to hear it,' said his friend. 'That's a symptom of health. Go everywhere; see everybody—that's worth seeing. They got you to talk, I believe?'
'Who has been telling you? I'm afraid I talked a lot of rubbish; I had shivers of shame all through a sleepless night after it. But some one brought up Whistler, and etching, and so on, and I had a few ideas of which I wanted to relieve my mind. And, after all, there's a pleasure in talking to intelligent people. Henry Wilt was there with his daughters. Clever girls, by Jove! And Mrs. Peter Rayne—do you know her?'
'Know of her, that's all.'