She startled--looked excitedly at me. “Papa!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Yes--I wouldn’t put it past him!” I laughed. She drew a long breath of relief. “Oh, you weren’t in earnest,” she said. “No,” replied I. “But--don’t live here.” “I shan’t,” said she firmly. “It’s dreadful for the looks. You’ve seen what so many of these English women look like.” “Like shriveled, frost-bitten apples,” said I. “They don’t die because they’re used to it. But it’s death for people accustomed to civilization. Not even the steady glow of pride in your title and position can keep you heated up enough to save you.” “Will you give Hugh a house, if he’ll consent?” “Yes.... Until to-night or to-morrow.” And I fled from the romantic old Abbey, but not soon enough to avoid what was threatening to be the cold of my life. IX The moment I was in London, and before that Sothewell Abbey cold had a chance to grip me, I went at it. Starve, stay in bed, and keep the air out for a day--that’s the way to put a cold out of business. Unless it be some occasional prodigy endowed with superhuman common sense and self-restraint, no one learns how to take care of his health except by experience. The doctors know precious little about disease; about health they know nothing--naturally, they have no interest in health. The average human being not only does not know how to take care of his health, but also does not wish to learn how; health involves self-denial, cutting down on food, drink, tobacco and the other joys of life. So he who wishes to avoid enormous payments in discomfort and pain for slight neglects and transgressions of physical laws has to work it out for himself. I’ve made several valuable discoveries in the science and art of living; about the most valuable of them is that every illness starts under cover of a cold. So I instantly take myself in hand whenever I begin to sneeze and to have chilly sensations or a catch in the throat. The result has been that since I was thirty I have not spent a cent on doctors or lost a day through illness, and I’ve eaten and drunk about as I pleased. I can see gentle reader’s expression of disdain at these confessions as to my care for health. You are welcome to your disdain, gentle reader. It is characteristic of your shallowness. You see, the chief difference between you and me is that I have imagination while you have not. And as I have imagination, illness makes to my mind a picture of revolting internal conditions which I can no more endure than I could endure having my outside unclean and frowzy.