"Bob, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you."
He took his hands and sat down, his face full of the concern he did not care to speak. Lady Hartledon had said he was going into a way; it was evidently the way of the grave.
He pushed the balls and the board from him, half ashamed of his employment. "To think you should catch me at this!" he exclaimed. "Maude brought it to me yesterday, thinking I was dull up here."
"As good that as anything else. I often think what a miserably restless invalid I should make. But now, what's wrong with you?"
"Well, I suppose it's the heart."
"The heart?"
"The doctors say so. No doubt they are right; those complaints are hereditary, and my father had it. I got quite unfit for duty, and they told me I must go away for change; so I wrote to Maude, and she took me in."
"Yes, yes; we are glad to have you, and must try and get you well, Bob."
"Ah, I can't tell about that. He died of it, you know."
"Who?"