“Ah, indeed! That is but natural, I suppose. Well, sir, what do you require—my consent to the absence of my wife?”
“Well, yes, if you have no objection.”
“Since our marriage she has been accustomed to have her own way in everything. I have never thwarted her or offered any opposition to her expressed wishes. If she wishes to go, there is an end of the matter.”
“Better ask her—hadn’t we?” returned Chicknell.
“As you please.”
Gatliffe arose from his seat, opened the door, and called his wife by her Christian name.
She hurriedly entered the parlour. At the sight of the lawyer her face became irradiated with a smile, which was not lost upon her husband, who explained to her the reason for Mr. Chicknell honouring them with a visit.
“The earl ill?” cried Aveline, in a tone of alarm. “I’m sorry indeed to hear that. Anything serious?”
“Ahem! No, nothing very serious. His medical attendant says he requires rest, and a change of air when he gets better. There’s nothing to be alarmed at—that is, as far as I can learn. And so what say you, my dear lady?” inquired the lawyer, in oleaginous accents.
“As far as I am individually concerned, I should hasten at once to Broxbridge,” answered Aveline; “but I leave it for my husband to determine.”