“I know Paddy would have meant some of Bridgie’s money to be used for her coming out, Herbert. It isn’t as if—”

“My dear,” said Sir Herbert with an ineffable air of tactful reproach, and a glance at Miss Harris. “Of course. It’s entirely for you and Bridget to decide. Naturally. I wouldn’t dream of interfering. I’m just rather an old fool and like to give any help I can. Don’t pay any attention.”

Lady Carrados was saved the necessity of making any reply to this embarrassing speech by the entrance of the maid.

“Lord Robert Gospell has called, m’lady, and wonders if—”

“ ’Morning, Evelyn,” said an extraordinarily high-pitched voice outside the door. “I’ve come up. Do let me in.”

“Bunchy!” cried Lady Carrados in delight. “How lovely! Come in!” And Lord Robert Gospell, panting a little under the burden of an enormous bunch of daffodils, toddled into the room.

On the same day that Lord Robert Gospell called on Lady Carrados, Lady Carrados herself called on Sir Daniel Davidson in his consulting-rooms in Harley Street. She talked to him for a long time and at the end of half an hour sat staring rather desperately across the desk into his large black eyes.

“I’m frightfully anxious, naturally, that Bridgie shouldn’t get the idea that there’s anything the matter with me,” she said.

“There is nothing specifically wrong with you,” said Davidson, spreading out his long hands. “Nothing, I mean, in the sense of your heart being overworked or your lungs at all unsound or any nonsense of that sort. I don’t think you are anaemic. The blood test will clear all that up. But”— and he leant forward and pointed a finger at her —“but you are very tired. You’re altogether too tired. If I was an honest physician I’d tell you to go into a nursing-home and lead the life of a placid cow for three weeks.”