"Ill? Ill? No. But I shall be ill in a moment. Listen!"
From the direction of the gates of Rouncivell Lodge the engine of a taxi throbbed upon the warm June air.
"He thinks it's an aeroplane," Vibart whispered. "Poor old chap, he's probably afraid it's going to fall on the house. Old people who haven't seen many of them do often get worried like that. It's all right, sir," he added in a louder voice, "it's only my taxi running up the twopences."
"Take it away," the old gentleman screamed. "Take it away, and take yourself away with it. Who are you? What do you mean by coming here and visiting my niece and keeping a taxi buzzing outside the gate? Do you realize that it's costing a penny a minute? Take it away!"
Harry looked at Jasmine, and she signed to him that it would be right to humour her uncle. She really was afraid that he was going to have a fit.
"Perhaps I may call another day?" the young man suggested in a despondent tone of voice.
"Certainly not. You'll be driving up next in a golden coach. If you want to squander your money, squander it some other way."
It was useless to argue with the infuriated old gentleman, and Vibart took himself off.
"That's the last I shall see of him," thought Jasmine, turning sadly to follow her uncle into the house. Later on, however, when Uncle Matthew had recovered from the shock to his parsimony, he enquired who her visitor was, and she thought that she was able to reassure him.
"Well," said the old gentleman, "perhaps I was a little hasty. Yes, I think I was. Does he smoke?"