God! Laurence, I'm fond of her still—if only things had turned out right! But there, they did not.
"Come and see me at my consulting hour to-morrow," I said as I kissed her again, and strolled down Phillimore Gardens home, to think matters over.
I had started Manne-Martyn with an artificial cough, and I had given him dilated pupils, which his attendants had noticed. So far I was on the road.
But the opportunity had to be made, and Rita, much as I disliked the idea, must help me, must draw off the enemy, while I, the preliminaries having been arranged, brought off the final coup.
"What do you think of my son, doctor," asked my patient's mother on the morning following my revelation to Rita. "Is he really improving? He is sure to get well again—is he not?"
"As far as I can see, madam."
"I believe it is all Rita's fault," she said; "she has treated him shamefully, poor fellow! He has been driven to do wrong"
"That is really nothing to do with me, Mrs. Manne-Martyn," I declared, for I feared that if she went on in that strain I might arouse
