"Oh, no, no," said the doctor hurriedly, "I was thinking of—"
He broke off, and his amiable guest tactfully changed the subject. A little later, with what he hoped was equal tact, he returned to it again. Assuring the doctor of his anxiety to give no trouble, he said,
"I'll do just as the last fellow did. You just put me into his shoes, doctor, and then you'll always know where you are."
There was no doubt about the oddness of the glance which Dr. Rendall shot at his guest this time. His answer was a murmur that might have meant anything. Mr. Hobhouse innocently rattled on.
"I presume he fitted into your ways all right and so will I if you tell me first what—er—you did mention his name—or didn't you?"
"O'Brien," said the doctor.
"O'Brien?" repeated Mr. Hobhouse with a distinct air of distaste for so mild a gentleman.
The doctor looked at him quickly.
"Do you know him?" he asked sharply.
"Oh, no, no! Oh dear me, no! It's only that I have a very foolish and very stupid prejudice against Irishmen—as I presume he was."