'Well done!' said Nurse Blaber, in the corridor. 'We've improved too.'
Dr. Gilbert and an older man came out of the next compartment.
'Hallo!' said Gilbert. 'Why haven't you been to see me, Mr. Conroy? Come under the lamp. Take off your hat. No—no. Sit, you young giant. Ve-ry good. Look here a minute, Johnnie.'
A little, round-bellied, hawk-faced person glared at him.
'Gilbert was right about the beauty of the beast,' he muttered. 'D'you keep it in your glove now?' he went on, and punched Conroy in the short ribs.
'No,' said Conroy meekly, but without coughing. 'Nowhere—on my honour! I've chucked it for good.'
'Wait till you are a sound man before you say that, Mr. Conroy.' Sir John Chartres stumped out, saying to Gilbert in the corridor, 'It's all very fine, but the question is shall I or we "Sir Pandarus of Troy become," eh? We're bound to think of the children.'
'Have you been vetted?' said Miss Henschil, a few minutes after the train started. 'May I sit with you? I—I don't trust myself yet. I can't give up as easily as you can, seemingly.'
'Can't you? I never saw any one so improved in a month.'
'Look here!' She reached across to the rack, single-handed lifted Conroy's bag, and held it at arm's length. 'I counted ten slowly. And I didn't think of hours or minutes,' she boasted.
'Don't remind me,' he cried.
