“Can your man take this for me?”
“Of course,” cried the Doctor, ringing, and the quiet, grave-looking servant appeared.
“Take a cab and go to the Charing Cross Post Office. That is open all night. You will pay for a special messenger to ride or drive over with it at once. The town is ten miles from Major Gurdon’s cottage. Quick, please: it is important.”
He handed the man some money, and in two minutes the front door was closed.
“Hah! That is a relief,” said Clive, with a sigh. “A quiet old officer who lives retired there, Doctor. He too has put his all into the mine. We have become very intimate.”
“And has he a pretty daughter, too, like this old fool?”
Clive started, and his cheeks flushed as he remained silent for a few moments.
“Yes, Doctor, he has a daughter.”
Doctor Praed held out his hand, and shook Clive’s warmly.
“I’m very glad, my boy,” he said gently. “The wisest thing. I hope she is very nice. There, I will not ask you. It is quite right—quite right.”