“I ill? I anxious? I tell my brother?” he repeated, sharply.
“Nay, as you will. Only do come to us. He will be so glad to see you.”
“Glad to see me?” He again repeated her words, as though he had none of his own, or were too bewildered to use them. Nevertheless, through a certain playful influence which Agatha could exert when she liked, making almost everybody yield to her, Major Harper suffered himself to be led along; his companion talking pleasantly to him the while, lest he might think she noticed his discomposure.
Arrived at home, they found that Nathanael had walked to the Regent's Park to fetch his wife, according to agreement.
Mrs. Harper looked sorry. She had already learned one little secret of her husband's character—his dislike to any unpunctuality, any altered plans or broken promises. “Still, you must come in and wait for him.”
“Wait for whom?” said Major Harper, absently.
“Your brother.”
“My brother!—I, wait to see my brother! Impossible—I—I'll write. Good morning—good morning.”
He was leaving the hall—more hurried and agitated than ever—when Mrs. Harper, now really concerned, laid her hand upon his arm.
“I will not let you go. Come in, and tell me what ails you.”