She was much delighted then when one raw, foggy November morning Marcus
brought her a message. Mr. Gaythorne felt himself better, and would be
very pleased if Mrs. Luttrell would give him an hour that afternoon.

Her visit was a very pleasant one. The yellow fog outside had been
extremely depressing, but as she stepped into the hall, the whole house
seemed brightly illuminated. Mr. Gaythorne, who was on crutches, met her
at the head of the staircase. He had discarded his dressing-gown, and
wore a black velvet coat that became him still better.

The conservatory, lighted up by lamps cunningly concealed among the
foliage, looked more like fairyland than ever. And the deep easy-chairs,
with their crimson cushions, were deliciously inviting.

Her admiration seemed to gratify Mr. Gaythorne, and as he pointed out his
favourite flowers, and descanted on their habits and peculiar beauties,
Olivia listened with such intelligent interest, and asked such sensible
and pertinent questions, that he was drawn insensibly into giving her a
botanical lesson.

They were so engrossed with their subject that it was almost an effort to
break off when coffee was brought.

Mrs. Crampton had sent up a profusion of dainty cakes, and as Olivia
drank her coffee and feasted on the various delicacies, the one drawback
to her pleasure was that Marcus was not there to share it. At this
present moment he was in some slum or other supplementing the labours of
the overworked parish doctor.

How surprised Dr. Luttrell would have been if he could have seen the
transformation in his patient's appearance--the lean, cadaverous face had
lost its fretful look, the melancholy dark eyes had grown bright and
vivid, the slow precise voice had waxed animated and even eloquent as he
discoursed learnedly on his floral treasures.

Flowers, butterflies, and birds were his great hobbies, and his
magnificent collections had been gathered from all parts of the world; he
had been a great traveller in his early manhood.

"I have been everywhere and seen everything," he said once. Towards the
end of the afternoon Olivia had been much touched by a little incident;
she had asked him a question about a curious cactus. "If you will come
with me, my dear," he had answered, "I could show you a better
specimen"--and then a dull red had risen to his forehead. "Excuse me,
Mrs. Luttrell. I forgot whom I was addressing--and--and--you----" but
here he checked himsel