"Say to-morrow at four o'clock," he suggested, pertinently. "If you could manage to be passing up the drive at that hour."
At that moment he heard the sharp crack of a branch behind him, and turning instantly he spied the uncompromising countenance of Moggridge peering round a tree about twenty paces distant. Lack of presence of mind and quick decision were not amongst Mr Beveridge's failings. He struck a theatrical attitude at once, and began in a loud voice, gazing up at the tops of the trees, "He comes! A stranger comes! Yes, my fair friend, we may meet again. _Au revoir_, but only for a while! Ah, that a breaking heart should be lit for a moment and then the lamp be put out!"
Meanwhile Moggridge was walking towards him.
"Time you was goin' in, sir," said Moggridge, stolidly; and to himself he muttered, "He's crackeder than I thought, a-shoutin' and a-ravin' to hisself. Just as well I kept a heye on 'im."
Like most clever people, Mr Beveridge generally followed the line of least resistance. He slipped his arm through his attendant's, shouted a farewell apparently to some imaginary divinity overhead, and turned towards the house.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," he remarked.
"Funny thing your turning up. Out for a walk, I suppose?"
"For a stroll, sir--that's to say----" he stopped.
"That on these chilly afternoons the dear good doctor is afraid of my health?"
"But of course I'm not supposed to notice anything, eh?"
Moggridge looked a trifle uncomfortable and was discreetly silent. Mr Beveridge smiled at his own perspicacity, and then began in the most friendly tone, "Well, I feel flattered that so stout a man has been told off to take care of me. What an arm you've got, man."
"Pretty fair, sir," said Moggridge, complacently.
"And I am thankful, too," continued Mr Beveridge, "that you're a man of some sense. There are a lot of fools in the world, Moggridge, and I'm somewhat of an epicure in the matter of heads."
"Mine 'as been considered pretty sharp," Moggridge admitted, with a gratified relaxation of his wooden countenance.
"Have a cigar?" his patient asked, taking out his case.
"You will find it a capital smoke. I don't throw them away on every one."
Moggridge, completely thawed, lit his cigar and slackened his pace, for such frank appreciation of his merits was rare in a critical world.