“You stick to it that I’m a broken-down man?”

“I do.”

“I wish you were twenty years younger, Sir!”

“Why?”

“I’d ask you to step out on the lawn there and I’d show you whether I’m a broken-down man or not.”

Lady Lundie looked at her brother-in-law.  Sir Patrick instantly interfered.

“Mr. Delamayn,” he said, “you were invited here in the character of a gentleman, and you are a guest in a lady’s house.”

“No! no!” said the surgeon, good humoredly.  “Mr. Delamayn is using a strong argument, Sir Patrick—­and that is all.  If I were twenty years younger,” he went on, addressing himself to Geoffrey, “and if I did step out on the lawn with you, the result wouldn’t affect the question between us in the least.  I don’t say that the violent bodily exercises in which you are famous have damaged your muscular power.  I assert that they have damaged your vital power.  In what particular way they have affected it I don’t consider myself bound to tell you.  I simply give you a warning, as a matter of common humanity.  You will do well to be content with the success you have already achieved in the field of athletic pursuits, and to alter your mode of life for the future.  Accept my excuses, once more, for having said this publicly instead of privately—­and don’t forget my warning.”

He turned to move away to another part of the room.  Geoffrey fairly forced him to return to the subject.

“Wait a bit,” he said.  “You have had your innings.  My turn now.  I can’t give it words as you do; but I can come to the point.  And, by the Lord, I’ll fix you to it!  In ten days or a fortnight from this I’m going into training for the Foot-Race at Fulham.  Do you say I shall break down?”

“You will probably get through your training.”

“Shall I get through the race?”

“You may possibly get through the race.  But if you do—­”

“If I do?”

“You will never run another.”

“And never row in another match?”

“Never.”

“I have been asked to row in the Race, next spring; and I have said I will.  Do you tell me, in so many words, that I sha’n’t be able to do it?”

“Yes—­in so many words.”

“Positively?”

“Positively.”

“Back your opinion!” cried Geoffrey, tearing his betting-book out of his pocket.  “I lay you an even hundred I’m in fit condition to row in the University Match next spring.”

“I don’t bet, Mr. Delamayn.”

With that final reply the surgeon walked away to the other end of the library.  Lady Lundie (taking Blanche in custody) withdrew, at the same time, to return to the serious business of her invitations for the dinner.  Geoffrey turned defiantly, book in hand, to his college friends about him.  The British blood was up; and the British resolution to bet, which successfully defies common decency and common-law from one end of the country to the other, was not to be trifled with.