Margot, coming by a later train, sent me word that she was ill. She had called in a doctor. He poured some medicine--some poison--into her, of course, and so got her into the way of giving him an excuse for robbing her. In England doctors rank socially with butchers and bakers, rank scientifically with voodoo quacks and astrologers. They still look on a cold as a trifle, and treat it by feeding! The food and drugs she swallowed soon reduced Margot to the state where it was taking all the reserve force of her youth to save her from severe illness. I was entirely well the following day, and went to see her. The doctor--five guineas or twenty-five dollars a visit--was coming twice a day; his assistant--two guineas or ten dollars a visit--was coming four times a day. The Marchioness of Crossley, a rich American, was ill. Her social position and Dr. Sir Spratt Wallet’s rank as a practitioner together made it imperative that the illness be no ordinary affair. The second day he issued bulletins to the papers. I attempted to interfere in the treatment, but Margot would not have it. “She’s growing worse instead of better,” said I to Wallet. “Certainly, sir,” replied he. “That is the regular course with a cold.” And he stroked his whiskers and looked at me with dull, self-complacent, supercilious eyes. “The regular course, sir.” “In England, but not in America,” said I. “I dare say,” said he, with heavy politeness. Then, after a heavy pause, “her ladyship will be quite fit again in a week--quite fit.” As she was eating three strapping meals a day and taking rhinitis and another equally poisonous drug I had my doubts. But once you let a doctor in you are powerless. If you order him out without giving him an opportunity in his own good time to cure the mischief he has done the consequences may be serious. Not to linger over this incident in high life, Wallet made out of that cold a hundred guineas, not counting his commissions on the fees of his assistant, on the wages of a trained nurse, and on the stuff from the chemist. If Margot had been English born the bill would have been about one fourth that sum--for the same rank in society. Slay the Midianite! But that’s the rule the world over. When I am “trimmed” abroad I console myself with reflecting on the fate of the luckless foreigner visiting America. Europe trims us to the quick; but we trim to the bone; and when no foreigners are handy we keep in practice by trimming one another. Margot’s illness did not interfere with my efforts to right her matrimonial ship and set it in its course again. I had greatly modified my original plan. It involved my seeking the Marquis. My new plan was to compel him to seek me. I proceeded so successfully that on the morning of the third day of Margot’s “indisposition,” while I was at breakfast in my sitting room, Markham came in with a grin of triumph on his face. “You win,” he cried. “But you always do.” “Dawkins?” “Here’s his card.”