“When are you coming back?” inquired the other.

“Back?” repeated Swann.  “Back?  You haven’t been listening.  I’m a wreck.  All through violating man’s primeval instinct by messing about in cold water.  What is the news?”

Hardy pondered and shook his head.  “Nugent is going to be married in July,” he said, at last.

“He’d better have had that trip on the whaler,” commented Mr. Swann; “but that is not news.  Nathan Smith told it me this morning.”

“Nathan Smith?” repeated the other, in surprise.

“I’ve done him a little service,” said the invalid.  “Got him out of a mess with Garth and Co.  He’s been here two or three times, and I must confess I find him a most alluring rascal.”

“Birds of a feather—­” began Hardy, superciliously.

“Don’t flatter me,” said Swann, putting his hand out of the bed-clothes with a deprecatory gesture.

“I am not worthy to sit at his feet.  He is the most amusing knave on the coast.  He is like a sunbeam in a sick room when you can once get him to talk of his experiences.  Have you seen young Nugent lately?  Does he seem cheerful?”

“Yes, but he is not,” was the reply.

“Well, it’s natural for the young to marry,” said the other, gravely.  “Murchison will be the next to go, I expect.”

“Possibly,” returned Hardy, with affected calmness.

“Blaikie was saying something about it this morning,” resumed Swann, regarding him from half-closed lids, “but he was punching and tapping me all about the ribs while he was talking, and I didn’t catch all he said, but I think it’s all arranged.  Murchison is there nearly every day, I understand; I suppose you meet him there?”

Mr. Hardy, whistling softly, rose and walked round the room, uncorking medicine bottles and sniffing at their contents.  A smile of unaffected pleasure lit up his features as he removed the stopper from one particularly pungent mixture.

[Illustration:  “Sniffing at their contents.”]

“Two tablespoonfuls three times a day,” he read, slowly.  “When did you have the last, Swann?  Shall I ring for the nurse?”

The invalid shook his head impatiently.  “You’re an ungrateful dog,” he muttered, “or you would tell me how your affair is going.  Have you got any chance?”

“You’re getting light-headed now,” said Hardy, calmly.  “I’d better go.”

“All right, go then,” responded the invalid; “but if you lose that girl just for the want of a little skilled advice from an expert, you’ll never forgive yourself—­I’m serious.”

“Well, you must be ill then,” said the younger man, with anxiety.

“Twice,” said Mr. Swann, lying on his back and apparently addressing the ceiling, “twice I have given this young man invaluable assistance, and each time he has bungled.”