“Do you know anything of his history or his people? Has he any relations?”
“I know very little. I don’t think he has any, any real relations, so to speak. There are, I believe, some cousins, distant cousins, whom he hates. In fact, a lonely old bachelor, Dr. Arkroyd.”
Mary gave a little laugh and became less professional. “He’s rather an old dear! He uses funny stately phrases. He said I might speak quite openly to you, as you were closely attached to his person!”
“Sounds rather like a newspaper, doesn’t it? He does talk like that sometimes.” Beaumaroy moved round the table, came close to the fire, and stood there, smiling down at Mary.
“He’s very fond of you, I think,” she went on.
“He reposes entire confidence in me,” said Beaumaroy, with a touch of assumed pompousness.
“Those were his very words!” cried Mary, laughing again. “And he said it just in that way! How clever of you to guess!”
“Not so very. He says it to me six times a week.”
Mary had risen, about to take her leave, but to her surprise Beaumaroy went on quickly, with one of his confidential smiles, “And now I’m going to show you that I have the utmost confidence in you. Please sit down again, Dr. Arkroyd. The matter concerns your patient just as much as myself, or I wouldn’t trouble you with it, at any rate I shouldn’t venture to so early in our acquaintance. I want you to consider yourself as Mr. Saffron’s medical adviser, and, also, to try to imagine yourself my friend.”
“I’ve every inclination to be your friend, but I hardly know you, Mr. Beaumaroy.”