“No sign of it yet, doctor,” I laughingly replied.
As a matter of fact, matrimony had so far made no appeal to me: I had never met a girl who had stirred me deeply. I had many friends—or at least acquaintances—of my own sex, but I was deeply absorbed in my hobbies and, not seeking society for society’s sake, I had hardly any woman friends. Sometimes I fancied that the opposite sex found in me something antipathetic and uncongenial: at any rate, I made little progress with them and, perhaps for that reason, was quite content to remain a bachelor and keep my father’s old housekeeper, Mrs. Chapman, to “mother” me as she did when I was a boy and manage my flat in Russell Square.
I suppose I was no better and no worse than thousands of other fellows of my age. Men coming down from Oxford and flung into the whirl of London life are not usually Puritans or ascetics. I suppose I was much like them. Life was young in me, and fortune had been kind. If I had few friends, I had no enemies: I had an income ample for my wants and I enjoyed myself in my own way. My work kept me busy during the day: my evenings were filled with music, my “wireless,” an occasional dance, or theatre and I was always merry and happy. Nothing had occurred to make me, a careless youngster, realize that there was something in life deeper and dearer than anything I know. I was not given to self-analysis or overmuch introspection and that a storm of love might some day shatter my complacent existence to bits never crossed my mind. My music and my experiments in radio-telephony were about the only serious side of my life. So Dr. Feng’s good humored badinage left me quite unmoved.
We strolled together to the curling rink for a match.
Old Mr. Humphreys, a grey-faced financier from the near East, and a very charming and refined old fellow, sat in his invalid chair watching us. The ice was in perfect condition and very fast, so that the game was as good as could be obtained, even in Scotland itself. The orchestra was playing gay music for the skaters, some of whom were waltzing, laughter sounded everywhere and the bright sunny morning was most enjoyable.
We lost the match, mostly, I fear, through several very bad stones that I played, and our lack of energy in sweeping. Curling is a very difficult game to play well, for, unlike golf or tennis, one can get such little practice at home.
However, we all afterward retired to the bar, and over our cocktails old Mr. Humphreys who, being a confirmed invalid, wheeled himself about in his chair, chatted merrily. He had arrived about a week after I had come. He seldom, if ever, left his chair during the day. His guidance and management of the chair was wonderful and he could even play billiards while seated. He and the doctor were great friends and often joined a bridge party together, while I took my skis up the cable railway to the Allmendhubel and swept back down the slopes.
The following afternoon, while passing along the terrace of the big chalet which overlooks the rink, I found Major Harold Burton, here the secretary of the Mürren Bob-sleigh Club, and at home an officer in the Tank Corps, chatting with the Audleys.
“I say, Yelverton!” he exclaimed, “will you join us on a test on the bob-run presently? Mr. and Mrs. Audley are coming. Let me introduce you.”
I raised my ski-cap and bowed.