"It is about nothing of that kind, sir, that I wanted—that I wished—No, thank you—I would rather not sit down." He, accordingly, stood in offended dignity. "It is about that letter, sir—that letter with the insulting prescription, sir."
"Insulting prescription! I am surprised at such a word being applied to any prescription of mine—though, to be sure, patients are sometimes offended at being told the nature of their illnesses; and, I daresay, they may take offence at the medicines which their cases require."
"I did not ask you to prescribe for me."
"Oh, ho! Then you were the Master Coxe who sent the note through Bethia! Let me tell you it has cost her her place, and was a very silly letter into the bargain."
"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir, to intercept it, and to open it, and to read words never addressed to you, sir."
"No!" said Mr. Gibson, with a slight twinkle in his eye and a curl on his lips, not unnoticed by the indignant Mr. Coxe. "I believe I was once considered tolerably good-looking, and I daresay I was as great a coxcomb as any one at twenty; but I don't think that even then I should quite have believed that all those pretty compliments were addressed to myself."
"It was not the conduct of a gentleman, sir," repeated Mr. Coxe, stammering over his words—he was going on to say something more, when Mr. Gibson broke in,—
"And let me tell you, young man," replied Mr. Gibson, with a sudden sternness in his voice, "that what you have done is only excusable in consideration of your youth and extreme ignorance of what are considered the laws of domestic honour. I receive you into my house as a member of my family—you induce one of my servants—corrupting her with a bribe, I have no doubt—"
"Indeed, sir! I never gave her a penny."
"Then you ought to have done. You should always pay those who do your dirty work."