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"Well, I'd never thought of a change, but if you all suggest it " Somehow it did seem as if they all, and not merely youthful Gertie had suggested it. "But I should rather like to know Dr. Arkroyd first." "Come and meet her here; that's very simple. She often comes to tennis and tea. We'll let you know the first time she's coming." Beaumaroy most cordially accepted the idea and the invitation.
From what you've heard from myself, and perhaps from others?" The wind swished outside; save for that, the little room seemed very still. The professional character of the interview did not save it, for Mary Arkroyd, from a sudden and rather unwelcome sense of intimacy, of an intimacy thrust upon her, though not so much by her companion as by circumstances.
I'm truly grateful, Dr. Arkroyd." "Oh, you needn't be!" said Mary with a little toss of her head. Naylor watched them with amusement. "He'll catch it on that walk!" he was thinking. "She's going to let him have it! I wish I could be there to hear." He spoke to them openly: "I'm sorry you must both go, but, since you must, go together. Your walk will be much pleasanter."
Mary Arkroyd, a duly qualified, accredited, responsible medical practitioner? With a slight shock to her self-esteem she was obliged to confess that she had only the haziest idea. Had not people who kept a lunatic to be licensed or something? Or did that apply only to lunatics in the plural? And did Beaumaroy keep Mr. Saffron within the meaning of whatever the law might be?
"And no real reason why he shouldn't prefer you to distant relations whom he dislikes." "Ah, no real reason; that's what you say! You mean that people would impute " Mary Arkroyd had her limitations of experience, of knowledge, of intuition. But she did not lack courage. "I have given you my professional opinion. It is that, so far as I see, Mr.
Throughout this gathering Beaumaroy was very punctilious with his "Dr. Arkroyd." One would have thought that Mary and he were almost strangers. "Yes, I like it," said Mary. "The Tower makes it rather unusual and picturesque." This was not really her sincere opinion; she was playing up to Beaumaroy, convinced that he had opened some conversational maneuver. "Don't like it at all," answered Mrs.
"Perhaps generally, but some rich pockets one may call pockets," corrected Beaumaroy. "I'm not an agriculturist," remarked weaselly Mr. Radbolt, in his oily tones. "And then there's a picturesque old yarn told about it oh, whether it's true or not, of course I don't know. It's about a certain Captain Duggle not the Army the Mercantile Marine, Mrs. Radbolt. You know the story Dr. Arkroyd?
Suppose that happened, how should I stand in your opinion, Dr. Arkroyd? But wait a moment still. Suppose that my career has not been very, well, resplendent; that my army record is only so-so; that I've devoted myself to him with remarkable assiduity, as in fact I have; that I might be called, quite plausibly, an adventurer. Mary sat silent for a moment or two.
"A man might be capable of murder, but not capable of that," said Alec. "A truly British sentiment!" cried his father. "Tom, we have got back to the national ideals." The discussion ended in laughter, and the talk turned to lighter matters; but, as Mary Arkroyd drove Cynthia home across the heath, her thoughts returned to it.
Beaumaroy, fresh from the comely presences of Old Place, unconscious of how the General had ripped up his character and record, pleasantly nursing a little project concerning Dr. Mary Arkroyd, had never been more forcibly struck with his protege's ill-favoredness than when he arrived home on this same evening, and the Sergeant met him at the door.
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