weighing and measuring, was tiresomely thorough; but at
the end Gaisford could only suggest change of scene and occupation.

"I'm not a good subject for rest," Eric objected.

"I'm not sending you into a home," said Gaisford. "Why not go out to
California for six months? You can scribble there as well as anywhere."

"If I work at all, it ought to be this propaganda job," Eric suggested.

"Then do your propaganda job elsewhere. I want to get you out of London.
Do you want me to speak frankly? You're seeing much too much of an
exceedingly attractive young woman. If you're going to marry her, marry
her; if not, break away. Flesh and blood can't stand your present life."

Eric left him without giving a pledge, because he felt too tired for the
effort of going away from Barbara for six months. Since he had reduced
his hours of work, there was no excuse for this everlasting sense of
limp fatigue; granted the fatigue, there was no excuse for his not
sleeping. The doctor had paid curiously little attention to the insomnia
and was childishly interested in making him blow down a tube and
register the cubic capacity of his lungs. There had never been a hint of
phthisis in the family, but the medical profession could be trusted to
recommend six months in California when a man needed only one injection
of morphia to secure a night's sleep.

He had forgotten Gaisford and his advice when Barbara came to say
good-bye on her last day in London.

"My dear, have you been ill?" she asked with concern. "I've been told to
use my influence to get you away for a holiday. What's been the matter?"

"I don't know. And Gaisford shouldn't discuss one patient with another.
He wants me to go to California for six months."

"Then you'll go? You _must_ go!" Barbara's eyes were wide with distress.
"I insist!"

"I'm thinking it over," he answered, a little startled. "I'm not a bit
keen to leave you, Babs."

"D'you think I'm keen to lose you? Darling Eric, if you know what you
mean to me . . . But you've got to get well!"

"I don't know why California should make the--waiting any easier."

"Ah, don't say _I've_ made you ill! I'll say 'yes' Eric. . . . Now. . . .
But I should only be able to give you a little piece of myself, I should
always be divided. . . . I don't think you really want that, and you'd
be simply wretched if you found you'd spoiled my life after saving it.
. . . Eric, don't hurry me? It's only April. Wait till twelve months