The Luck of the Vails: A Novel

by E. F. Benson

"I wonder if Harry would like me to read to him," he said.

Geoffrey looked up with an arrested smile.

"I think I should leave him quite alone," he said. "I've just been up to him. He's as cross as a bear, and wouldn't speak to me. So I came away."

"But that is so unlike him!" said Mr. Francis. "He must be ill, he must be really ill."

Geoffrey began to understand Harry's feelings the day before.

"If I were you I wouldn't fuss either him or myself," he said. "People don't die of a cold in the head."

"Shall I send for the doctor?" asked Mr. Francis. "We might tell Harry that he happened to call about some case of distress in the village, and wished to consult him about it. Then we could get his opinion. I think, under the circumstances, one might venture on so small an equivocation."

Geoffrey closed his Punch.

"I shouldn't do anything of the kind if I were you," he said. "What an abominable morning! I'll play some accompaniments for you, if you like."