Falloden, who had not got to bed till six, woke towards noon from a heavy sleep in his Beaumont Street "diggings," and recollecting in a flash all that had happened, sprang up and opened his sitting-room door.

Meyrick was sitting on the sofa, fidgeting with a newspaper.
"Well, how is he ?" Meyrick reported that the latest news from Marmion was that Sorell and Fanning between them had decided to take Radowitz up to town that afternoon--for the opinion of Sir Horley Wood, the great surgeon.
"Have you seen Sorell ?" "Yes.

But he would hardly speak to me.

He said we'd perhaps spoilt his life." "Whose ?" "Radowitz's." Falloden's expression stiffened.
"That's nonsense.

If he's properly treated, he'll get all right.