Tell me—are you a trifle grey!—just above the temples?—or is it the light?"
"He's grey," said Cecil; "don't flatter him, Athalie. And Oh, Lord, what a thinness!"
Peggy Brooks, professionally curious, said naïvely: "Are you still rather full of bacilli, Mr. Bailey? And would you mind if I took a drop of blood from you some day?"
"Not at all," said Clive, laughing away the strain that still fettered his speech a little. "You may have quarts if you like, Dr. Brooks."
"How was the shooting?" inquired Welter, bustling up like a judge at a bench-show when the awards are applauded.
"Oh—there was shooting—of course," said Clive with an involuntary and half-humorous glance at Captain Dane.
"Good nigger hunting," nodded Dane. "Unknown angles, Welter. You ought to run down there."
"Any incomparable Indian maidens wearing nothing but ornaments of gold?" inquired Cecil.
"That is partly true," said Clive, laughing.
"If you put a period after 'nothing,' I suppose," suggested Peggy.