"Yes, I think I know what you mean."
"But with regard to the voice, I distinctly remember that he used the word 'metallic.'"
"Why, that's the word Cynthia used——!"
"I daresay it is. It's the word Alec used in describing the voice in which old Mr. Saffron recited his poem—or whatever it was—in bed."
"But I've talked to Mr. Saffron; his voice isn't like that; it's a little high, but full and rather melodious."
"Oh, well then——!" He spread out his hands, as though acknowledging a check. "Still, the voice described as metallic seems to have been Mr. Saffron's—at a certain moment at least. As a merely medical question of some interest, I wonder if such a symptom or sign of—er—irritability could be intermittent, coming and going with the—er—fits! Irechester didn't say anything on that point. Have you any opinion?"
"None. I don't know. I should like to ask Dr. Irechester." Then, with a sudden smile, she amended, "No, I shouldn't!"
"And why not, pray? Professional etiquette?"
"No—pride. Dr. Irechester laughed at me. I think I see why now; and perhaps why Mr. Beaumaroy——" She broke off abruptly, the slightest gesture of her hand warning Naylor also to be silent.
Having said good-bye to his friends by the window, Beaumaroy was sauntering across the room to pay the like courtesy to herself and Naylor. Mary rose to her feet; there was an air of decision about her, and she addressed Beaumaroy almost before he was within speaking distance as it is generally reckoned in society.