I thank him:  most kind.  I say, smilingly, that “No doubt, shall meet some friends;” a remark which seems to tickle him immensely.  As a matter of fact, however, I confide to him that I should prefer keeping myself quiet this evening, as I have so much to do to-morrow morning.

“Of course you have,” assents the Proprietor most sympathetically.  “And you’d like to rest as much as possible to-night after your journey.  You’d like a table to yourself a little later.  No—­no—­no thanks, I’m only too delighted.”

And, so saying, the kind Proprietor leaves me to see to the hundred-and-one things he has to do to-day, only stopping the Boots, who now arrives with the double-caped waterproof I had sent him for, to point me out to him, and to tell him to order a private table for me in the salle a manger “at—­at?”—­he queries—­and I reply by inquiring if I may fix it for 7.45, as the room will be quieter then.  “Certainly,” says Mr. NORFOLK CAPES, without making the slightest difficulty about it.  Then, turning to Boots, he says, “7.45,” whereupon Boots repeats the mystic formula.  And thus ’tis arranged.

Delightful gardens of Hotel.  Stroll out on to cliff.  Beautiful air, not the least enervating.  On the contrary, refreshing.  Returning later on to dress, I see the salle a manger full to overflowing.  The Medicals are all feeding well and wisely, as Medicals ought to do.  A pleasant company.  Only a few of the younger and idler spirits remain when I sit down to my dinner about eight.  Excellent cuisine.  Couldn’t be better.  Salmon-trout from Christchurch, Poole pickles, beef from Boscombe, Hampshire ham with Bournemouth beans.  For wine, Peter Pommery ’80; and the whole to finish with Corfe Castle Korffee, a Lyndhurst liqueur, and cigar in the sea-garden, or garden o’erlooking the sea.

Lovely night.  Then, after a stroll, “to bed,” as Lady Macbeth observes.  Sensible person, Lady Mac.

On second thoughts will look at papers in smoking-room.  Am alone at first, but in a few minutes room crowded.  Medical Association has returned in force.  I catch occasional bits in conversation:—­

“Pity MCSIMMUM (or some name very like this) couldn’t come.  Great pity; missed him immensely.” (Here several stories about MCSIMMUM, all evidently more or less good, and all interesting.  I myself begin to wish that MCSIMMUM had arrived.  He would have been an acquisition.) More medical men of various ages and with variety of spectacles.  All enjoying themselves thoroughly,—­quite medical boys out for a holiday,—­but every one of them, individually and collectively, intensely regretting the absence of Dr. MCSIMMUM.  I hear the voice of my friend Mr. CAPES in the passage.  I will ask Mr. CAPES about this celebrated Dr. MCSIMMUM, whom evidently I ought to know, at least by repute.  Perhaps I have known him by sight for years; perhaps he is a man with whom I often dine at the Club, and who entertains us in the smoking-room with strange stories of odd patients.  His name I have heard long ago.  Was it MCSIMMUM?  Not unlikely.  Can’t remember.