“Half-past eleven, you mean!” said Dr. Paull, sternly.
For reply, Fuller pulled out a turnip silver watch.
“It don’t never vary a second, sir, it don’t,” he said, conclusively.
A glance at his own watch, and Hugh, saying, “You’re right, home,” drew up the window, and threw himself back in consternation.
“Am I mad, or dreaming?” he asked himself. He had missed a lecture for the first time since his appointment ten years ago!
CHAPTER XII.
“’TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP.”
“Incredible! Preposterous!”
That was Dr. Paull’s mental attitude: he could not understand how that hour, or more, had slipped away in the princess’ boudoir.
His annoyance, and his difficulty in accounting for his absence from his post, made him half-forgetful of the princess’ expressed determination to see him every day. Next morning, when Sir David Forwood was announced, he had no idea of his old friend’s errand.
“No one ill, I hope?” he said, with concern; he left his consulting-room to join his visitor in the dingy old drawing-room, a melancholy apartment. He was fond of the Forwood children, one or two of whom were weakly.