"Mr. Chase was unwell all yesterday," he said, "and at dinner-time he told us that he felt unequal to his duties. He was sitting in that empty place, and we both advised him not to overtax his strength."
He appealed with a look to Mr. Stiles for corroboration.
"Yes; we both advised him," said Stiles, between two mouthfuls; "and, very wisely, he took our advice."
"He rose from his chair," continued Princkley. "There was some fruit upon the table. He took an apple from the dish. I think, Stiles, that it was an apple which he took?"
Mr. Stiles agreed, and went on with his dinner.
"It was certainly an apple which he took. He took it in his hand."
"You hardly expected him to take it with his foot!" rejoined Warrisden, politely. Warrisden was growing a little restive under this detailed account of Chase's indisposition.
"No," replied Princkley, with gravity. "He took it in quite a natural way, and went upstairs to his sitting-room. I gave orders to Mrs. Wither that he must not be disturbed until he rang. That is so, Mrs. Wither, is it not? Yes. I thank you."
"That was yesterday evening!" cried Warrisden.
"Yesterday evening," replied Mr. Princkley.