‘Dr. Mayerne does not think so, only Mr. Thompson talked of remote causes, when Amy mentioned it. I don’t believe it did any harm, and Charlie himself says you saved him from falling down-stairs.’
Philip had begun to give Laura his version of the accident, as he had already done to her father, when Mrs. Edmonstone came down, looking harassed and anxious. She told her nephew that Charles was very desirous to see him, and sent him up at once.
There was a fire in the dressing-room, and the door was open into the little room, which was only lighted by a lamp on a small table, where Amy was sitting at work. After shaking hands, she went away, leaving him alone with Charles, who lay in his narrow bed against the wall, fixed in one position, his forehead contracted with pain, his eyelids red and heavy from sleeplessness, his eyes very quick and eager, and his hands and arms thrown restlessly outside the coverings.
‘I am very sorry to find you here,’ said Philip, coming up to him, and taking, rather than receiving, his hot, limp hand. ‘Is the pain very bad?’
‘That is a matter of course,’ said Charles, in a sharp, quick manner, his voice full of suffering. ‘I want to hear what you have been doing at Oxford and St. Mildred’s.’
‘I am sorry I do not bring the tidings you wish.’
‘I did not expect you would. I know you too well; but I want to hear what you have been doing—what he said,’ answered Charles, in short, impatient sentences.
‘It can be of no use, Charlie. You are not in a state to enter on agitating subjects.’
‘I tell you I will hear all,’ returned Charles, with increased asperity. ‘I know you will say nothing to his advantage that you can help, but still I know you will speak what you think the truth, and I want to judge for myself.’
‘You speak as if I was not acting for his good.’