"I thought her charming. You have seen her?"
"Oh yes, I have seen her frequently."
"And what is your impression?"
"The same as yours; Miss Annette is very charming."
The two men formed a curious contrast. George had laid by his pipe and was leaning over an arm of his chair, looking eagerly and scrutinisingly in his father's face; the Doctor lay back at his length, his comfortable dressing-gown wrapped around him, his slippered feet on the fender, his eyes fixed on the fire, while he gently tapped the palm of one hand with an ivory paper-knife which he held in the other.
"Father," said George Wainwright, suddenly rising and standing on the rug before the fire, "I want to talk to you about Annette Derinzy."
"My dear George," said the Doctor, without changing his position, "I shall be very happy to talk to you about any inmate of that house; always respecting professional confidences recollect, George."
"You must hear me to the end first, sir, and then you will see what confidences you choose to give to, and what to withhold from, me. Whatever may be your decision I shall, of course, cheerfully abide by; but it is rather an important matter, as you will find before I have finished, and I look to you for assistance and advice in it."
There was such an earnestness in the tone in which George spoke these last words, that the Doctor raised himself from his lounging position and regarded his son with astonishment.
"My dear boy," said he, putting out his hands and grasping his son's warmly, "you may depend on having both to the utmost extent of my power. We don't see much of each other, and we don't make much parade of parental and filial affection; but I don't think we like each other the less for that; and I know that I am very proud of you, and only too delighted to have any opportunity--you give me very few--of being of service to you. Now speak."