Every one seemed glad to see Arthur—even Mrs. Nesbit. In the course of the evening something was said about a dinner party for the ensuing Saturday, and Lady Martindale asked if he could stay for it.
‘Saturday? Yes; I need not go back till Monday.’
‘I wish Violet could have come,’ said Lord Martindale. ‘I am glad you can give us a week; but it is a long time for her to be alone. I hope she has some friend to be with her.’
‘Oh, she wants no one,’ said Arthur. ‘She begged me to go; and I fancy she will be rather glad to have no distraction from the child. I am only in the way of her perpetual walking up and down the room with him whining in her arms.’
‘Ah! it is an unlucky affair,’ said Mrs. Nesbit, in her sarcastic tone of condolence; ‘she will never rear it.’
She seemed, in her triumph, to have forgotten that its father was present, and his impatient speech had certainly not been such as to bring it to mind; but this was too much, and, starting, he hastily exclaimed, ‘Children always do make a fuss about their teeth!’
‘I do not speak without the authority of medical men,’ said Mrs. Nesbit. ‘I don’t blame your wife, poor thing.’
What do you mean? cried Arthur, colour and voice both rising.
‘I am surprised your brother kept it from you,’ said she, gratified at torturing him; ‘you ought to have been informed.’
‘Tell me at once,’ said Arthur.