The surgeon’s opinion was not favourable.  Captain Kirton had heart-disease beyond any doubt.  His chest was weak also, the lungs not over-sound; altogether, the Honourable Robert Kirton’s might be called a bad life.

“Would a warmer climate do anything for him?” asked Lord Hartledon.

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders.  “He would be better there for some things than here.  On the whole it might temporarily benefit him.”

“Then he shall go.  And now, Hillary, I want to ask you something else—­and you must answer me, mind.  Captain Kirton tells me the fact of his having heart-disease is not mentioned in the house lest it should alarm Lady Hartledon, and develop the same in her.  Is there any fear of this?”

“It is true that it’s not spoken of; but I don’t think there’s any foundation for the fear.”

“The old dowager’s very fanciful!” cried Lord Hartledon, resentfully.

“A queer old—­girl,” remarked the surgeon.  “Can’t help saying it, though she is your mother-in-law.”

“I wish she was any one else’s!  She’s as likely as not to let out something of this to Maude in her tantrums.  But I don’t believe a word of it; I never saw the least symptom of heart-disease in my wife.”

“Nor I,” said the doctor.  “Of course I have not examined her; neither have I had much opportunity for ordinary observation.”

“I wish you would contrive to get the latter.  Come up and call often; make some excuse for seeing Lady Hartledon professionally, and watch her symptoms.”

“I am seeing her professionally now; once or twice a week.  She had one or two fainting-fits after she came down, and called me in.”

“Kirton says he used to have those fainting-fits.  Are they a symptom of heart-disease?”

“In Lady Hartledon I attribute them entirely to her present state of health.  I assure you, I don’t see the slightest cause for fear as regards your wife’s heart.  She is of a calm temperament too; as far as I can observe.”

They stood talking for a minute at the door, when Lord Hartledon went out.  Pike happened to pass on the other side of the road.

“He is here still, I see,” remarked Hartledon.

“Oh dear, yes; and likely to be.”

“I wonder how the fellow picks up a living?”

The surgeon did not answer.  “Are you going to make a long stay with us?” he asked.

“A very short one.  I suppose you have had no return of the fever?”

“Not any.  Calne never was more healthy than it is now.  As I said to Dr. Ashton yesterday, but for his own house I might put up my shutters and take a lengthened holiday.”

“Who is ill at the Rectory?  Mrs. Ashton?”

“Mrs. Ashton is not strong, but she’s better than she was last year.  I have been more concerned for Anne than for her.”

“Is she ill?” cried Lord Hartledon, a spasm seizing his throat.