"Stewponds damming up the stream? Scoutbush ought to drain them instantly!" said the Major, half to himself. "But still the house lies high—with regard to the town, I mean. No chance of malaria coming up?"
"Upon my word, sir, as a professional man, that is a thing that I dare not say. The chances are not great—the house is two hundred yards from the nearest cottage: but if there be an east wind—"
"I cannot bear this any longer. It is perfect madness!"
"I trust, sir, that you do not think that I have neglected the matter. I have pointed it all out, I assure you, to Mr. Vavasour."
"And it is not altered?"
"I believe it is to be altered—that is—the truth is, sir, that Mr.
Vavasour shrinks so much from the very notion of cholera, that—"
"That he does not like to do anything which may look like believing in its possibility?"
"He says," quoth Tom, parrying the question, but in a somewhat dry tone, "that he is afraid of alarming Mrs. Vavasour and the servants."
The Major said something under his breath, which Tom did not catch, and then, in an appeased tone of voice—
"Well, that is at least a fault on the right side. Mrs. Vavasour's brother, as owner of the place, is of course the proper person to make the house fit for habitation." And he relapsed into silence, while Thurnall, who suspected more than met the ear, rose to depart.