felt himself liable to expire suddenly at any moment.
Mrs. Farnell was a mere cipher in the house. He was devoted to his daughter Edith, and, by Jove! I never knew a smarter or cleverer girl. She had been to school in Dresden, and was saturated with German philosophy, which ill became her, pretty and "fluffy" as she was.
Once, when I had paid a visit to her father, I found her alone in the morning-room, standing by the window.
She turned upon me like a young tigress, and with flashing eyes exclaimed:
"Look here, Dr. d'Escombe, I don't think you are treating Dad fairly. You are making him believe he's horribly ill, and I'm sure he isn't!"
I looked the girl straight in the face, much surprised.
"I have no knowledge of treating your father unfairly. Miss Farnell," I replied. "Indeed, I don't follow you."
"You are making him believe he's really ill, and I, for one, don't believe it," she declared angrily. "He could walk, shoot, play golf, and take exercise before he consulted you, and now—why, he's a perfect invalid."
