"And forbid so many good things, doctor," said her ladyship, with asperity. "But, my dear, I--I--I'm pretty nearly starved; it's poverty of blood, I'm sure." "Well, come and have a good lunch," said the doctor. "I'll see that you have nothing to disagree with you." "Thank you, doctor, thank you," said the old gentleman, as the gong began to sound and they went down, Tryphie and Tom coming out of another room--Maude joining them, looking now quite composed. "I remember when I was a boy," said Lord Barmouth, suddenly. "Yes, my love," said her ladyship, stiffly; "but you've told us that before." "Have I, my dear?" said his lordship, looking troubled, and then there was a little pause. "I may have a glass of hock, may I not, doctor?" said the old man, as the luncheon went on. "Eh? Yes.--I say, what's your name, bring me the hock, some seltzer and a glass," said the doctor to Robbins. "Yes, my dear," he continued to Tryphie, "I would rather any day go to the Tyrol than along the beaten track through the Alps." The butler brought the hock and seltzer, and a large tumbler, into which such a liberal portion of wine was poured that Lady Barmouth looked horrified, and the old gentleman chuckled and squeezed Maude's hand under the table. "Is not that too much, doctor?" whispered her ladyship. "Eh? Much? oh no. Do him good," said the doctor, filling up the glass with seltzer. "There, take that to his lordship." "I say, father," said Tom, giving her ladyship a mocking smile, "I watched the quantities. I'll mix your hock for you in future." The luncheon went on, the doctor chatting merrily, while his lordship became, under the influence of so strong a dose of medicine, quite garrulous. "I say, doctor," he said, chuckling, "did--did you hear that deuced good story about Lady Grace Moray?" "No," said the doctor; "what was it?" "Capital story, and quite true--he he, he!" chuckled the old gentleman. "She--she--she--begad, she was disappointed of one fellow, and--and-- and, damme if she didn't run off with the butler." "Barmouth!" exclaimed her ladyship, austerely, "I am glad that the servants are not in the room." "It's--it's--it's a fact, my dear," said the old gentleman, wiping his eyes. "Bolted with him, she did, and--and--and, damme, I forget how it all ended. I say, Tom, my boy, how--how--how the doose did that affair end?" "Got married and made a fool of herself," said Tom sharply. "Do people always make fools of themselves who marry, Tom?" said Tryphie in a low voice. "Always," he whispered back, "if they marry people chosen for them in place of those they love." "I must request, Barmouth, my dear, that you do not tell such stories as that. They are loathsome and repulsive. Lady Grace Moray comes of a very low type of family. Her grandfather married a butterman's daughter, or something of that kind. They have no breeding." "I--I--I think I left my handkerchief in the drawing-room," said his lordship, rising.