Lord Hartledon smiled. Never a more generous disposition than his; and if money could save this poor Bob Kirton, he should not want it.
Walking forth, he strolled down the road towards Calne, intending to ask a question or two of the surgeon. Mr. Hillary was at home. His house was at this end of Calne, just past the Rectory and opposite the church, with a side view of Clerk Gum's. The door was open, and Lord Hartledon strolled into the surgery unannounced, to the surprise of Mr. Hillary, who did not know he was at Calne.
The surgeon's opinion was not favourable. Captain Kirton had heart-disease beyond any doubt. His chest was weak also, the lungs not over-sound; altogether, the Honourable Robert Kirton's might be called a bad life.
"Would a warmer climate do anything for him?" asked Lord Hartledon.
The surgeon shrugged his shoulders. "He would be better there for some things than here. On the whole it might temporarily benefit him."
"Then he shall go. And now, Hillary, I want to ask you something else—and you must answer me, mind. Captain Kirton tells me the fact of his having heart-disease is not mentioned in the house lest it should alarm Lady Hartledon, and develop the same in her. Is there any fear of this?"
"It is true that it's not spoken of; but I don't think there's any foundation for the fear."
"The old dowager's very fanciful!" cried Lord Hartledon, resentfully.
"A queer old—girl," remarked the surgeon. "Can't help saying it, though she is your mother-in-law."
"I wish she was any one else's! She's as likely as not to let out something of this to Maude in her tantrums. But I don't believe a word of it; I never saw the least symptom of heart-disease in my wife."