"Evelyn, beloved, I am here as you wish."
EPILOGUE
THE DOCTOR DRINKS A TOAST
In the Spring of the year following upon Gavin Ord's return from Bukharest, the Reverend Harry Fillimore playing, as he claimed, "the game of his life" upon the links at Moretown, found himself to his chagrin both oblivious of the troubles of others and utterly unsympathetic toward his old friend Doctor Philips.
"My dear fellow," he would say, "what can you expect when you will take your eye off the ball? Now do be patient. For my sake, be patient."
The doctor, driving his ball with savage ferocity into a deep and awful pit, treated these observations with the just scorn they merited. He neither criticised nor contested them; but having struck the offending ball five times with little result, he picked it up deliberately and uttered a remark which the vulgar at any rate might have considered appropriate.
"She's at Gibraltar," he said without preface.
"Come, dear fellow—now do be patient. I will not encourage strong language; you know that I will not."
Dr. Philips laughed such a melancholy laugh that even the good-natured parson looked up from his beloved ball.