"Molly is arranging the flowers; Laura has had a long letter from Mrs.
Fountain, and is now, I believe, gone to answer it."
"Then I shan't enjoy my lunch," said Dr. Friedland pensively.
He was an elderly gentleman, with a short beard and moustache turning to white, particularly black eyes, and a handsome brow. His wife had put a rug over his shoulders, and another over his knees, before she allowed him the "Times" and a cigarette. Amid the ample folds of these draperies, he had a Jove-like and benignant air.
His wife inquired what difference Miss Fountain's correspondence would or could make to her host's luncheon.
"Because she won't eat any," said the doctor, with a sigh, "and I find it infectious."
Mrs. Friedland laid down her newspaper.
"There is no doubt she is worried—about Mrs. Fountain."
"E tutti quanti" said the doctor, humming a tune. "My dear, it is surprising what an admiration I find myself possessed of for Sir John Pringle."
"Sir John Pringle?" said the lady, in bewilderment.
"Bozzy, my dear—the great Bozzy—amid the experiments of his youth, turned Catholic. His distracted relations deputed Sir John Pringle to deal with him. That great lawyer pointed out the worldly disadvantages of the step. Bozzy pleaded his immortal soul. Whereupon Sir John observed with warmth that anyone possessing a particle of gentlemanly spirit would sooner be damned to all eternity than give his relations so much trouble as Bozzy was giving his!"