---'As you will have
guessed from the fact of my advertising'"--here he began to read
aloud--"'we are not too lavishly blessed with this world's goods. Our
house is roomy and comfortable, though abominably furnished. But I
can guarantee the climate, and there are plenty of nicer people than
ourselves in the neighbourhood. It wouldn't be fitting for me to blow
our own particular household trumpet--nor, to tell the truth, is it
always calculated to give forth melodious sounds; but if the other
considerations I have mentioned commend themselves to you, I suggest
that you come down and make trial of us.'"

"Don't you think he sounds just delightful?" queried Sara.

Manlike, Geoffrey shook his head disapprovingly.

"No, I don't," he said decisively. "That's the most unbusinesslike
letter I've ever read."

"_I_ like it very much," announced Elisabeth with equal decision. "The
man writes just as he thinks--perfectly frankly and naturally. I should
go and give them a trial as he suggests. Sara, if I were you."

"That's what I feel inclined to do," replied Sara. "I thought it a
delicious letter."

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders resignedly.

"Then, of course, if you two women have made up your minds that the
man's a natural saint, I may as well hold my peace. What's the fellow's
address?--I'll look him up in the Medical Directory. Richard Selwyn,
Sunnyside, Monkshaven--that right?"

He departed to the library in search of Dr. Selywn's credentials,
presently returning with a somewhat rueful grin on his face.

"He seems all right--rather a clever man, judging by his degrees and the
appointments he has held," he acknowledged grudgingly.

"I'm sure he's all right, asserted Sara firmly.

"Although I don't understand why such a good man at his job should
be practicing in a little one-horse place like Monkshaven," retorted
Geoffrey maliciously.

"Probably he went there on account of his wife's health," suggested
Elisabeth. "He says she is an invalid."

"Oh, well"--Geoffrey yielded unwillingly--"I suppose you'll go, Sara.
But if the experiment isn't a success you must come back to us at once.
Is that a bargain?"

Sara hesitated.

"Promise," commanded Geoffrey. "Or"--firmly--"I'm hanged if we let you
go at all."

"Very well," agreed Sara meekly. "I'll promise."

"I hope the experiment will be an utter failure," observed Tim, later
on, when he and Sara were alone together. He spoke with an oddly
curt--almost ini