He smiled. "Grey is an optimist, my dear, and a downright good fellow, and he has picked up a prize in his wife. They are on their wedding-tour, as anyone quite unversed in that lore can see at a glance; and they ought to have left Zermatt a week ago or more but they have cheerfully stayed on to minister to the physical and mental necessities of an old man and a stranger. Not many would have done it, for they are sacrificing one of the most attractive programmes that Switzerland offers, for my sake."
"What a lot of good people there are in the world," I said. "I am going to like Dr. Grey as much as I like his wife. He is a big, strong, well-developed man, of course?"
"Why 'of course?'?" he asked.
"Husbands of tiny wives invariably are; the infinitely small seems to have a remarkable affinity for the infinitely great."
"Well, he is certainly a strapping fellow, and he is devoted to the wee woman he has made his wife. I believe, too, he will get on in his profession."
"His wife says he is a very clever man indeed," I remarked.
"Does she? An unbiassed opinion of that kind is valuable. All the same, he has done me good, not so much with physic—for I take the Zermatt man's concoctions—as with his cheery outlook. I believe he thinks I am a trickster."
"Do you know what I believe, sir?" I asked.
"No; tell me," he said.
"I believe you are going to get better, and I shall take you back to Windyridge and the moors."