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And I wanted
to let you see that I could do something besides loll about in
a drawing-room and smoke cigarettes. It's all I can do. But it's
something." She said it with the humility of the Jongleur de Notre Dame
in Anatole Frances's story.
In Eaton Square, where I had a luncheon engagement, she dropped me, and
drove off smiling, evidently well pleased with herself. My hostess was
standing by the window when I was shown into the drawing-room. I noted
the faintest possible little malicious twinkle in her eye.
During the afternoon I had a telephonic message from my doctor, who
asked me why I had neglected him for a fortnight and urged me to go to
Harley Street at once. To humour him I went the next morning. Hunnington
is a bluff, hearty fellow who feeds himself into pink floridity so as to
give confidence to his patients. In answer to his renewed inquiry as to
my neglect, I remarked that a man condemned to be hanged doesn't seek
interviews with the judge in order to learn how the rope is getting on.


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