"Not at present in your case," Dr. Gurnet informed him. "By the by, you'll get better, you know. You're a little too old to cure, but you'll patch up."
"What does that mean?" Winn demanded. "Shall I be a broken-winded, cats'-meat hack?"
Dr. Gurnet shook his head.
"You can go back to your regiment," he said, "and do anything you like bar pig-sticking and polo in a year's time. That is to say, if you do as you are told for that year and will have the kindness to remember that, if you do not, I am not responsible, nor shall I be in any great degree inconsolable. I am here like a sign-post; my part of the business is to point the road. I really don't care if you follow it or not; but I should be desolated, of course, if you followed it and didn't arrive. This, however, has not yet occurred to me.
"You will be out of doors nine hours a day, and kindly fill in this card for me. You may skate, but not ski or toboggan, nor take more than four hours' active exercise out of the twenty-four. In a month's time I shall be pleased to see you. Remember about the German and—er—do you ever flirt?"
Winn stared ominously.
"Flirt? No," he said. "Why the devil should I?"
Dr. Gurnet gave a peculiar little smile, half quizzical and half kindly.
"Well," he said, "I sometimes recommend it to my patients in order that they may avoid the intenser application known as falling in love. Or in cases like your own, for instance, when a considerable amount of beneficial cheerfulness may be arrived at by a careful juxtaposition of the sexes. You follow me?"
"No, hanged if I do," said Winn. "I've told you I'm married, haven't I? Besides, I dislike women."