"O yes, Mr Prayle; cold bathing and exercise, plenty of them; but they don't do any good." "Hah! that is singular," said Prayle thoughtfully. "Would the failure be from want of perseverance, do you think?" "Perhaps so. One doesn't know how much to persevere, you see." "These matters are very strange--very well worthy of consideration and study, Doctor Scales." "Very well worthy of consideration indeed, Mr Prayle," said the doctor; and then to himself: "This fellow gives me a nervous affection in the toes." "I trust my remarks do not worry you, Lady Scarlett?" said Prayle, in his bland way. "O no, not at all," replied that lady. "Pray do not think we cannot appreciate a little serious talk." Prayle smiled as he looked at the speaker--a quiet sad smile, full of thankfulness; but it seemed to trouble Lady Scarlett, who hastened to join the conversation on the other side, replying only in monosyllables afterwards to Prayle's remarks. The dinner passed off very pleasantly, and at last the ladies rose and left the table, leaving the gentlemen to their wine, or rather to the modern substitute for the old custom--their coffee, after which they smoked their cigarettes in the veranda, and the conversation once more took a medical turn. "I can't help thinking about that patient of yours, Jack," said Sir James. "Poor fellow! What a shocking affair!" "Yes, it must be a terrible life," said Prayle. "Life, Arthur! it must be a sort of death," exclaimed Scarlett excitedly. "Poor fellow! What a state!" "Well, sympathy's all very well," said the doctor, smiling in rather an amused way; "but I don't see why you need get excited about it." "Oh, but it is horrible." "Dreadful!" echoed Prayle. "Then I must have been an idiot to introduce it here, where all is so calm and peaceful," said the doctor. "Fancy what a shock it would give us all if we were suddenly to hear an omnibus go blundering by. James Scarlett, you are a lucky man. You have everything a fellow could desire in this world: money, a delightful home, the best of health--" "The best of wives," said Prayle softly. "Thank you for that, Arthur," said Scarlett, turning and smiling upon the speaker. "Humph! Perhaps I was going to say that myself," said the doctor sourly. "Hah! you're a lucky man." "Well, I don't grumble," said Scarlett, laughing. "You fellows come down here just when everything's at its best; but there is such a season as winter, you know." "Of course there is, stupid!" said the doctor. "If there wasn't, who would care for fickle spring?" "May the winter of adversity never come to your home, Cousin James," said Prayle softly: and he looked at his frank, manly young host with something like pathetic interest as he spoke. "Thank you, old fellow, thank you.--Now, let's join the ladies." "This fellow wants to borrow fifty pounds," growled Doctor Scales. Then after a pause--"There's that itching again in my toes." Volume 1, Chapter VI.