Cecilia's behaviour, guided by prudence and modesty, was steady and composed; she believed his illness and his uneasiness were the same, and she hoped the resolution she had taken would bring relief to them both while the terrors of Mr and Mrs Delvile seemed so greatly beyond the occasion, that her own were rather lessened than increased by them.
Dr Lyster soon arrived; he was a humane and excellent physician, and a man of sound judgment.
Delvile, gaily, shaking hands with him, said “I believe, Dr Lyster, you little expected to meet a patient, who, were he as skilful, would be as able to do business as yourself.”
“What, with such a hand as this?” cried the Doctor; “come, come, you must not teach me my own profession. When I attend a patient, I come to tell how he is myself, not to be told.”
“He is, then ill!” cried Mrs Delvile; “oh Mortimer, why have you thus deceived us!”
“What is his disorder?” cried Mr Delvile; “let us call in more help; who shall we send for, doctor?”
And again he rang the bell.
“What now?” said Dr Lyster, coolly; “must a man be dying if he is not in perfect health? we want nobody else; I hope I can prescribe for a cold without demanding a consultation?”
“But are you sure it is merely a cold?” cried Mr Delvile; “may not some dreadful malady”—
“Pray, Sir, have patience,” interrupted the doctor; “Mr Mortimer and I will have some discourse together presently; mean time, let us all sit down, and behave like Christians; I never talk of my art before company. 'Tis hard you won't let me be a gentleman at large for two minutes!”