Alan called at Harley Street immediately after breakfast, just a
quarter of an hour before the time allotted to his father's first
patient. Dr. Merrick received him in the consulting-room with an
interrogative raising of those straight, thin eyebrows. The mere
look on his face disconcerted Alan. With an effort the son began
and explained his errand. His father settled himself down into his
ample and dignified professional chair--old oak round-backed,--and
with head half turned, and hands folded in front of him, seemed to
diagnose with rapt attention this singular form of psychological
malady. When Alan paused for a second between his halting
sentences and floundered about in search of a more delicate way of
gliding over the thin ice, his father eyed him closely with those
keen, gray orbs, and after a moment's hesitation put in a "Well,
continue," without the faintest sign of any human emotion. Alan,
thus driven to it, admitted awkwardly bit by bit that he was
leaving London before the end of term because he had managed to get
himself into delicate relations with a lady.
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