Hilary. [With weak violence] If he comes here I’ll kill him.
Margaret. [Catching Sydney back] No, no! D’you hear him? What am I to do?
Sydney. It’s all right, Mother! We’ll manage somehow.
Bassett. [Entering] Dr. Alliot is in the hall, ma’am.
Margaret. [With a gasp of relief] Ask him to come in here. At once.
Dr. Alliot trots in. He is a pleasant, roundabout, clean little old man, with a twinkling face and brisk chubby movements of the hands. He is upright and his voice is strong. He wears his seventy odd years like a good joke that he expects you to keep up, in spite of the fact that he is really your own age and understands you better than you do yourself. But behind his comfortable manner is a hint of authority which has its effect, especially on Hilary.
Dr. Alliot. What’s all this I hear? Well, well! Good afternoon, Mrs. Fairfield! Good afternoon, Miss Fairfield! Merry Christmas, Sydney! Now then, now for him! Welcome back, Fairfield! Welcome back, my boy!
Hilary. It’s—it’s old Alliot, isn’t it?
Dr. Alliot. Your memory’s all right I see.