"What happens is that when the mahogany has been cleared of its polished silver and choice napery, and wine of a rare old vintage is circulating from hand to hand--" "If they wanted to take any notice of you at all, they could have given you a bread poultice and sent you to bed." "Then, as we impatiently bite the ends off our priceless Havanas--" "They might know that you couldn't possibly have hay-fever." I sat up suddenly and spoke to Beatrice. "Why on earth SHOULDN'T I have hay-fever?" I demanded. "Have you any idea what hay-fever is? I suppose you think I ought to be running about wildly, trying to eat hay--or yapping and showing an unaccountable aversion from dried grass? I take it that there are grades of hay-fever, as there are of everything else. I have it at present in a mild form. Instead of being thankful that it is no worse, you--" "My dear boy, hay-fever is a thing people have all their lives, and it comes on every summer. You've never even pretended to have it before this year." "Yes, but you must start SOME time. I'm a little backward, perhaps. Just because there are a few infant prodigies about, don't despise me. In a year or two I shall be as regular as the rest of them." And I sneezed again. Beatrice got up with an air of decision and left the room. For a moment I thought she was angry and had gone for a policeman, but as the minutes went by and she didn't return I began to fear that she might have left the house for good. I was wondering how I should break the news to her husband when, to my relief, she came in again. "You may be right," she said, putting down a small package and unpinning her hat. "Try this. The chemist says it's the best hay-fever cure there is." "It's in a lot of languages," I said as I took the wrapper off. "I suppose German hay is the same as any other sort of hay? Oh, here it is in English. I say, this is a what-d'-you-call-it cure." "So the man said." "Homeopathic. It's made from the pollen that causes hay-fever. Yes. Ah, yes." I coughed slightly and looked at Beatrice out of the corner of my eye. "I suppose," I said carelessly, "if anybody took this who HADN'T got hay-fever, the results might be rather--I mean that he might then find that he-in fact, er--HAD got it." "Sure to," said Beatrice. "Yes. That makes us a little thoughtful; we don't want to over-do this thing." I went on reading the instructions. "You know, it's rather odd about my hay-fever--it's generally worse in town than in the country." "But then you started so late, dear. You haven't really got into the swing of it yet." "Yes, but still--you know, I have my doubts about the gentleman who invented this. We don't see eye to eye in this matter. Beatrice, you may be right--perhaps I haven't got hay-fever." "Oh, don't give up."