Doctor Murchison had informed Constance, however, that this delusion was the least important of his symptoms. There was, it seemed, a psychosis, the origin of which must be sought farther back than the period of his bankruptcy. “I wish there was a trout stream here,” he said suddenly. They were walking now across the level grass, where, not far away Colonel Rickaby was engaged on a solitary round on the nine-hole golf links which was laid out in the castle grounds.
“I didn’t know you were a fisherman, Mr. Curtis,” said Constance, and her remark led him to talk easily and sanely of his pastime. He was a keen angler, and had once been a member of Driffield and accustomed to take three or four miles of a Norwegian river every summer. For a few moments Stimson was mercifully forgotten.
Mr. C
