“You do not look very strong,” he said. “I hope a few days of this sunshine will do you much good.” He was very kind and considerate, and bade her be seated again while he talked with her a few moments on indifferent topics. Then, consulting his watch, he said to Josephine: “Mrs. Forrest, don’t you think we should have that game of croquet before the day gets hotter? You see they are beginning to occupy the grounds already,” and he nodded toward the opposite side of the park, where a group of young ladies and gentlemen were knocking about the balls preparatory to a game. “To-morrow we shall ask you to join us,” he said to Rossie, “but as a physician, I advise you to rest to-day after your long journey. Coming suddenly into this climate is apt to debilitate if one is not careful. Good morning, Miss Hastings,” and with a graceful wave of his hand he walked away with Josephine, leaving Rosamond to look after and admire his splendid physique and manly form, and to think what a pleasant, gentlemanly person he was, with such a melodious voice. Already he was beginning to affect and influence her thoughts, and she sat and watched him as he walked very slowly toward the croquet-ground, where, instead of joining in the game, he sat down at some little distance and continued his conversation with Josephine, whose cheeks were flushed and who seemed unusually excited. The doctor’s first remark to her as they left the hotel had been: “Well, Joe, did you fix it all right with her?” “Fix what?” Josephine asked, knowing perfectly well what he meant, but being determined that he should explain. “Why, have you hired her not to go back on you, and tell that you are a grass widow instead of a loving wife, whose husband is pining in her absence?” The elegant doctor could be very coarse and unfeeling when he talked with Josephine, whom he understood so well, and who replied: “If you mean will she hold her tongue about my affairs, she will, and she does not know that you are the ‘priest all shaven and shorn, who married the youth all tattered and torn to the maiden all forlorn.’ I did not think it necessary to tell her that. Possibly, though, she may have heard your name from Everard; I do not know how that may be. I only told her that I knew you in Holburton, and that I met you again in Dresden.”