Extreme economy of words is apt to result in ambiguity. But I understood. In Kennington Lane, the race of mere men and women appeared to be extinct. They were all gentlemen⁠—unless they were ladies or children⁠—even as the Liberian army was said to consist entirely of generals. Sweeps, labourers, milkmen, costermongers⁠—all were impartially invested by the democratic bottle-boy with the rank and title of armigeri . The present nobleman appeared to favour the aristocratic recreation of driving a cab or job-master’s carriage, and, as he entered the room, he touched his hat, closed the door somewhat carefully, and then, without remark, handed me a note which bore the superscription “ Dr. Stillbury.”

“You understand,” I said, as I prepared to open the envelope, “that I am not Dr. Stillbury. He is away at present and I am looking after his patients.”