He kissed her on the forehead and went out again into the garden. Miss Spence received him aimed and intense.
"Your wife is dreadfully ill," she fired off at him.
"I thought she cheered up so much when you came."
"That was purely nervous, purely nervous. I was watching her closely. With a heart in that condition and her digestion wrecked—yes, wrecked—anything might happen."
"Libbard doesn't take so gloomy a view of poor Emily's health." Mr. Hutton held open the gate that led from the garden into the drive; Miss Spence's car was standing by the front door.
"Libbard is only a country doctor. You ought to see a specialist."
He could not refrain from laughing. "You have a macabre passion for specialists."
Miss Spence held up her hand in protest. "I am serious. I think poor Emily is in a very bad state. Anything might happen at any moment."
He handed her into the car and shut the door. The chauffeur started the engine and climbed into his place, ready to drive off.
"Shall I tell him to start?" He had no desire to continue the conversation.