"Give you three guesses," said Dymock, drawing rein with a grin on his clever, keen face. "But you won't guess in fifty."
"Got it in one," shouted Joey. "You're going to Omberleigh, I can see it in your eye."
"You're a wizard, Mrs. Ferris. Have you seen her, then?"
"What, the bride? You don't say you're going to see her?"
"I saw her yesterday," burst in Percy, "and she looked as well as—well, as health itself."
"Old Gaunt is not satisfied, however," replied Dymock. "It's probably nothing much, but he says she seems a bit run down. I suppose I must expect to be sent for if her little finger aches."
"Sure," laughed Ferris. "He looks as if he wishes he could cause her to become invisible when any one of the male sex is passing by. Just the age to make a fool of himself, isn't he? Well, if you're passing our way later, look in, won't you?"
"You'll be wasting your whisky, Ferris. I don't give away my patients."
Ferris grinned. "Welcome, anyway," he said, as he and his wife drove on.
Dr. Dymock pursued his road, his mind as he rode up through the pinewoods being filled with as lively a curiosity as even the couple from Perley Hatch confessed to feeling. What like was the girl—for Ferris said she was a girl, and beautiful at that—who could have married Gaunt?