The other laughed good-naturedly. "I told you over the telephone. It's just a case of a hard-working East End doctor snatching a brief interval from his practice to enjoy the society of his most brilliant and distinguished pupil." He paused. "As a matter of fact," he added, "the whole thing was Mary's notion. I wanted to have a talk with you, and she suggested that I should take a couple of hours off and invite you to lunch."
"Mary's a great woman," said Colin with feeling. "Why didn't you bring her along with you?"
"She's stopped behind to console the patients, shall have scores of 'em hanging round the surgery when I get back." He sighed heavily.
"Well, cheer up," said Colin. "By the time we've finished lunch they'll probably be dead." He helped himself to a roll, and, breaking off a bit of the crust, proceeded to nibble it thoughtfully. "What did you want to see me about?" he inquired.
Mark paused, while two waiters, who had suddenly appeared with the oysters and the Chablis, hovered round the table, intent on their ministrations.
"It's nothing much," he replied eventually. "I was wondering if by any chance you could find me a girl."
"Find you a girl?" echoed Colin. "Why, you old Mormon, you've got Mary already."
"That's just the trouble," was the depressed answer. "Mary has to go off to Lincoln for a month to nurse her mother. After next Wednesday I shall be a grass widower."
Colin looked at him with genuine sympathy. "My poor lad!" he exclaimed. "This is indeed a blow!"
"It's worse than that," observed his companion. "It's—it's a damned knock-out. She's never been away from me for more than a day, not since we went down to Shadwell. Heaven only knows how I shall get on without her. She answers the letters, keeps the accounts, pays the bills, mixes the medicines——"