I’ll write again when I hear.
Please give Diana my love.
Yours affly.,
Rose Aviolet.
“It really is very unsatisfactory,” said Rose Aviolet’s mother-in-law.
“What’s all this about Lucian?” Sir Thomas demanded with corrugated brows. “I don’t want Lucian interfering with my family affairs. What the devil have they got to do with Lucian?”
“You’d better ask Rose. She’s always had some fancy that Dr. Lucian understands Cecil better than the rest of us.”
“Understands him?”
Sir Thomas was scornful of any such necessity. “Lucian is the family doctor, that’s all he is. He ain’t my man of business. What does Rose want him poking about with Cecil’s bills for, eh? I suppose bills are at the bottom of it, young fool. Tell Ford he can go up to Cambridge to-morrow, and write to Rose and tell her I don’t want any meddling from Lucian.”
Thus did Sir Thomas command: prepared to overrule any protests. But he was not destined to settle matters with so high a hand.
“I really can’t write to Rose again, dear,” said Lady Aviolet. “I’m sure you don’t realize how much I’ve got to do just now, with the war and everything. Dr. Lucian is quite a sensible man, and if he was going to presume in any way, he’d have done so long ago when we had to take him so completely into our confidence over poor Jim’s affairs. After all, he is a gentleman. I can’t imagine why we don’t hear from Cecil to say what he’s doing about his commission, but very likely he’s made some silly muddle of things through sheer ignorance, and he doesn’t like to say so. Dr. Lucian can see about that quite as well as anybody else.”