“Ah, doctor, I was thinking of you at this moment. I read in the papers that you had been promoted, and I said to myself: ‘After all, this is not an ungrateful world, when the most skilful and most popular medical officer on the Atlantic is thus appreciated.’”
“Ah, you put it delightfully, Trevelyan, but I confess I hesitated about adding, at my time of life, to the burden I carry.”
“Your time of life, doctor! Why you always make me feel an old man by comparison with yourself; yet you’ll find me skipping about the decks like a boy.”
“If you’ll take the right-hand seat at my table, I’ll keep an eye on you, and prevent you from skipping overboard,” laughed the doctor.
“Indeed, that was the boon I intended to crave.”
“Then the seat is yours, Trevelyan. By the way, I read in the newspapers that Evelyn Trevelyan is none other than Lord Stranleigh; but then, of course, you can never believe what you see in the press, can you?”
“Personally, I make no effort to do so. I get my news of the day from Ponderby, who is an inveterate reader of the principal journals favoured by what he calls the ‘upper classes.’ But I assure you that Evelyn Trevelyan is a name that belongs to me, and I wear it occasionally like an old, comfortable-fitting coat.”
“Ah, well, I’ll not give you away. I’ll see you at lunch between here and Cherbourg.” And the doctor hurried away to his duties.
The young man continued his stroll, smiling as he remembered some of the doctor’s excellent stories. He regarded his meeting with that friendly officer as a good omen, but hoped he would encounter no one else who knew him.