your place. I suppose she'll run about the county now swearing you cured him. That's a woman's idea of gratitude.' Attley seemed rather hurt, and Mrs. Godfrey laughed.
'That proves you were right about Miss Sichliffe, Ella,' I said. 'She had no designs on anybody.'
'I'm always right in these matters. But didn't she even offer you a goldfish?'
'Not a thing,' said I. 'You know what an old maid's like where her precious dog's concerned.' And though I have tried vainly to lie to Ella Godfrey for many years, I believe that in this case I succeeded.
When I turned into our drive that evening, Leggatt observed half aloud:
'I'm glad Zvengali's back where he belongs. It's time our Mike had a look in.'
Sure enough, there was Malachi back again in spirit as well as flesh, but still with that odd air of expectation he had picked up from Harvey.
••••••
It was in January that Attley wrote me that Mrs. Godfrey, wintering in Madeira with Milly, her unmarried daughter, had been attacked with something like enteric; that the hotel, anxious for its good name, had thrust them both out into a cottage annexe; that he was off with a nurse, and that I was not to leave England till I heard from him again. In a week he wired that Milly was down as well, and that I must bring out two more nurses, with suitable delicacies.
Within seventeen hours I had got them all
