“I should be only too happy,” I assured him.

“Very good of you.  I am so utterly dissatisfied with Harley.”

“A little leaning to the materialistic school,” I said.

“A mere materialist,” he corrected me; “you can’t think how that sort of thing worries one who knows better.  You won’t tell any one—­any of my friends you know—­that I am hippish; now, for instance, no one knows—­not even Lady Mary—­that I have seen Dr. Harley, or any other doctor.  So pray don’t mention it; and, if I should have any threatening of an attack, you’ll kindly let me write, or, should I be in town, have a little talk with you.”

I was full of conjecture, and unconsciously I found I had fixed my eyes gravely on him, for he lowered his for a moment, and he said: 

“I see you think I might as well tell you now, or else you are forming a conjecture; but you may as well give it up.  If you were guessing all the rest of your life, you will never hit on it.”

He shook his head smiling, and over that wintry sunshine a black cloud suddenly came down, and he drew his breath in, through his teeth as men do in pain.

“Sorry, of course, to learn that you apprehend occasion to consult any of us; but, command me when and how you like, and I need not assure you that your confidence is sacred.”

He then talked of quite other things, and in a comparatively cheerful way and after a little time, I took my leave.

CHAPTER V

Dr. Hesselius is Summoned to Richmond

We parted cheerfully, but he was not cheerful, nor was I. There are certain expressions of that powerful organ of spirit—­the human face—­which, although I have seen them often, and possess a doctor’s nerve, yet disturb me profoundly.  One look of Mr. Jennings haunted me.  It had seized my imagination with so dismal a power that I changed my plans for the evening, and went to the opera, feeling that I wanted a change of ideas.

I heard nothing of or from him for two or three days, when a note in his hand reached me.  It was cheerful, and full of hope.  He said that he had been for some little time so much better—­quite well, in fact—­that he was going to make a little experiment, and run down for a month or so to his parish, to try whether a little work might not quite set him up.  There was in it a fervent religious expression of gratitude for his restoration, as he now almost hoped he might call it.

A day or two later I saw Lady Mary, who repeated what his note had announced, and told me that he was actually in Warwickshire, having resumed his clerical duties at Kenlis; and she added, “I begin to think that he is really perfectly well, and that there never was anything the matter, more than nerves and fancy; we are all nervous, but I fancy there is nothing like a little hard work for that kind of weakness, and he has made up his mind to try it.  I should not be surprised if he did not come back for a year.”