“To be married.” “Heu!” said Bob in a disgusted tone. “But that’s not all,” went on Doris. “She’s going with Mr Fanshawe, and nobody knows about it, only me and you and she and Patsy. She told me if we were good we might see her off; they are going at two o’clock in the morning.” “My eye!” said Bob, lighting up. “They ain’t running away, are they?” “They are. They’re running away from the old General and Mr Boxall—going to Dublin to be married. They’re going in the dogcart from the stable-yard—but, mind you, don’t say a word to any one.” “What do you take me for?” said Bob. “I say, Doris!” “Yes?” “Wouldn’t it be prime if the old General chased them?” “Don’t!” said Doris. “I was only thinking of him running after them with his great red face, an’ shouting to them to stop,” said Bob. He was kneeling on the window-seat of the schoolroom and looking out over the park. “I left that motor-car in the hall yesterday,” went on Bob, “and he hit his toe against it and sent it skidding across the floor, and he said, ‘Confound those children! they’re always in the way when they’re not wanted, they or their beastly toys.’ I was leaning over the banisters and I jolly nearly dropped a marble on his head. Who’s that coming?” “It’s Doctor O’Flaherty,” said Doris, kneeling up also on the window-seat and looking out at the car which was coming up the drive at a trot. The car drew up at the door, and Dr O’Flaherty of Tullagh, an old gentleman with grey side-whiskers, a clean-shaved physician’s mouth, and a humorous grey eye, descended and went up the steps. “Well, James,” said the doctor, as the door opened to him, “and what’s the matter?” “Her ladyship is poorly, sir, and there’s a houseful of influenza,” replied James, who was not an optimist. “Which will you see first, sir, the influenza or her ladyship?” “_Seniores priores!_” said the country doctor cheerily, as he took his stethoscope from his hat, hung his hat up and divested himself of his overcoat. “Her ladyship, James, by all means.” At this moment the door of the library opened and General Grampound came out. “I beg your pardon,” said General Grampound, “are you the doctor?” “I am,” said the practitioner. “May I have a word with you?” “With pleasure!” The General led the way into the library. “My ward, Miss Lestrange, is down with the influenza,” said General Grampound. “I am told it’s in the house,” said Dr O’Flaherty. “I believe the devil’s in the house!” burst out the General. “I had intended leaving by the train this morning from Tullagh, and now this turns up.” “Influenza has that habit,” said the doctor. “It leaves its card on you in the most unexpected manner.” “I don’t believe it’s influenza at all!” broke out the General, “and that’s just what I want to talk to you about. I believe it’s malingering.” “O ho!” “Yes, sir. I have reasons to suspect that I am a dupe; however, I await your diagnosis. Shall I show you to the door of my ward’s room?”