did resolve. The interval between his treats should become longer and longer, until he craved no more. Craved! How he craved now! It was that which made him so nervous and irritable. But he must have that one full dose when he got down to Bray. He had promised himself that, and he felt as if it were almost a duty to perform that promise. Meantime, whatever in his brain was lethargic and inert, some sense of cunning and precaution was always strong, and he knew that it was most important that Catherine should not think that there was anything wrong. So before the pause after his last rather snappish reply had made it impossible to refer back, he spoke again in a different tone. "You must forgive me for speaking rudely just now," he said, "and I am sure that Marcel is really careful. But I had the most dreadfully trying time up in Scotland, and those horrible headaches did not make things easier. As a matter of fact, I saw Dr. Symes when I was there, and he told me I was on edge. But he did not attach the least importance to it. He said the best thing I could do was to come down here and amuse myself, and forget all about the typhoid." That, again, was true as far as it went, but no further. Dr. Symes had said these things with regard to his neuralgia: he had not pronounced on the cure for it. "But there's no harm in seeing a doctor," she said, "and telling him all you feel and all you do. Then he tells you to avoid curried prawns, and you pay only two guineas." He laughed. "I have better uses for even so small a sum," he said, while his mind said to itself: "Two guineas' worth of laudanum! Two guineas' worth of laudanum!" "But it's so much better to be told if there's anything wrong," she said, "and so nice to be told that there isn't." "But I am sure of that, without being told," said he.