They arrived at the hotel, where Geoffrey, although displeased with his friend, was not forgetful of hospitality’s sacred rites. He ordered a spatchcock and a bottle of Roederer, and over this repast the two young men sat till late, talking of that subject which filled Geoffrey’s heart and mind. Like a child, he was one moment angry with his friend, and in the next eager to hear all that Lucius could say about his passion and its object—eager for advice which he had no idea of following; bent upon proving, by love’s eloquent oratory, that his divinity was all that is perfect among women. And so the night waned; and Geoffrey and his guest were the last among the inmates of that respectable family hotel to retire to their chambers in the long corridor, where the old-fashioned eight-day clock ticked solemnly in the deep of night. * * * * * Geoffrey would fain have presented himself in Marlow-street next morning with his friend, but having no reasonable excuse for visiting Mrs. Bertram at such an early hour, he contented himself with accompanying Lucius to the end of the street and then walking on to the station, there to await his coming. He had to wait a good deal longer than he had expected, and as the slow minute hand crept round the dial of the station clock his impatience increased to fever point. He had a good mind to go back to Marlow-street. What in heaven’s name could Lucius have to say about that simple case of scarlatina which could not be said in a quarter of an hour? Ten minutes had been enough last night; to-day he had been more than an hour. Nine had struck on that slow-going station clock. The next up-train went at 9.15. Did Lucius mean to miss it, after all his talk about his London patients? As it was, he could not be in London till the afternoon. It seemed to Geoffrey as if this morning visit to the sick child was somewhat supererogatory, since Lucius had declared the case to be one of the simplest. Fretting himself thus he left the station, and on the windy high road between trim hedges, in which the hawthorn was sprouting greenly, and the little white flower-buds already began to show themselves, saw Lucius hurrying towards him at a sharp pace. ‘I thought you meant to lose the next train,’ said Geoffrey somewhat sharply. ‘Well, what’s your news?’ ‘The little girl has passed a very quiet night and is going on capitally, and you need have no farther alarm.’ ‘I didn’t ask you about the little girl. You would hardly spend an hour talking about the scarlatina—Keep her cool, and give her the mixture regularly; and as soon as she is able to eat it let her have the wing of a chicken—as if one didn’t know all that bosh. Why, you doctors rattle it off just as we used to say our Latin verbs at Winchester—_amo_, _amas_, _amat_, and so on. Of course, you have been talking about other things—drawing Mrs. Bertram out, I suppose? Come, Lucius, we’ve only five minutes. What did you think of her to-day?’