"Ah—could you meet Tommy at 2.15?"
The poet's face fell.
"I—I am very busy," he said, deprecatingly.
"'Lucien and Angelica' ought to be concluded by to-morrow evening."
We were silent, both looking into the trembling haze, up the valley.
"The doctor," suggested the poet.
"I will try."
But the doctor was also very much engaged.
"Two cases up at Bonnor, in the downs," he explained.