The ladies separated; they met again at the breakfast-room door. Laughter rang merrily inside, and among the gayest voices was Mr. Dodd's. Lucy gave Mrs. Bazalgette an arch look. “Your patient seems better;” and they entered the room, where, sure enough, they found Mr. Dodd the life and soul of the assembled party.
“A letter from Mrs. Wilson, aunt.”
“And, pray, who is Mrs. Wilson?”
“My nurse. She tells me 'it is five years since she has seen me, and she is wearying to see me.' What a droll expression, 'wearying.'”
“Ah!” said David Dodd.
“You have heard the word before, Mr. Dodd?”
“No, I can't say I have; but I know what it must mean.”
“Lying becalmed at the equator, eh! Dodd?” said Bazalgette, misunderstanding him.
“Mrs. Wilson tells me she has taken a farm a few miles from this.”
“Interesting intelligence,” said Mrs. Bazalgette.