“It has always been a matter of wonder to me how he has lived so long. To go on existing, and be so sensitive to public opinion, is something quite beyond my comprehension.”
“You would not mind such attacks, then?” said Beattie, with a very slight sneer.
“I should think not! A man must be a fool if he does n't know there are scores of fellows who don't like him; and he must be an unlucky dog if there are not others who envy him for something or other, though it only be his horse or his dog, his waistcoat or his wife.”
In the look of malevolence he threw across the table as he spoke this, might be read the concentrated hate of one who loved to insult his victim. The doctor saw it, and rose to leave, disgusted and angry. “I suppose Sir William knows I am here?” said he, coldly.
“I suspect not,” said Sewell. “If you 'll talk to my wife, or look over the 'Times,' I'll go and tell him.”
The Chief Baron was seated at his writing-table when Sewell entered, and angrily cried out, “Who is there?”
“Sewell, my Lord. May I come in?”
“Sir, you have taken that liberty in anticipation of the request. What do you want?”
“I came to say, my Lord, that Dr. Beattie is here.”
“Who sent for him, sir?”