CHAPTER LVII
And, after all, I failed! I did not die. I got better, though not quite well, for my lungs remained delicate, and in October Mrs. Carroll took me to be examined by a specialist. I was examined, sounded, tapped, a sample of my blood taken, and other odious things done to me, before it was finally decided that I must go abroad. I listened to the discussion that followed, taking no part in it myself, but simply sitting on the sofa in the consulting-room.
"For the winter, I suppose?"
"For the winter certainly."
"And afterwards?"
"Afterwards? I'm afraid it is impossible to say. There is no use making promises which may never be fulfilled. Would there be anything to prevent his living abroad always, supposing it should be the best thing for him?"
"There is only the difficulty of his future—that is, of a profession. He was to have gone to Oxford next year."
"I see. It is certainly unfortunate. But apart from that, there is nothing?"
"To prevent his living abroad? Not that I know of."
There were such things at tutors, it then appeared; young gentlemen of excellent scholastic attainments, just fresh from one or other of the Universities, who could be induced to combine the roles of a travelling—companion, mentor, and pedagogue.
And on this hopeful not we came away. We had lunch
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