“Not a bad berth for the grave little bookworm,” he mused as he rang the bell.
It was immediately answered by the “grave little bookworm” in person.
“I’ve been on the lookout for you for the past hour,” he explained, leading him into the library and turning the key of the door as they entered.
It was a cosey room, not small or low, as the word would suggest, but large and airy; the cosiness was supplied by comfortable easy-chairs, a lounge or two, a woman’s low rocker, an open piano, a few soft engravings on the walls, and books in cases, books on tables, books on stands, books everywhere. Two long lace-draped windows let in a flood of searching sunlight that brought to light not an atom of dust in the remotest corner. It is the prerogative of every respectable Jewess to keep her house as clean as if at any moment a search-warrant for dirt might be served upon her.
“Will you not be seated?” asked Levice, looking up at Kemp as the latter stood drawing off his gloves.
“Is your wife coming down here?”
“No; she is in her room yet.”
“Then let us go up immediately. I am not at leisure.”
“I know. Still I wish to ask you to treat whatever ailments you may find as lightly as possible in her presence; she has never known anxiety or worry of any kind. It will be necessary to tell only me, and every precaution will be taken.”
Here was a second one of this family of three wishing to take the brunt of the trouble on his shoulders, and the third had been bearing it secretly for some time. Probably a very united family, loving and unselfish doubtless, but the doctor had to stifle an amused smile in the face of the old gentleman’s dignified appeal.