"I'm not going to excite myself," retorted Aunt Jelly, "but I'm going to excite him."
Dr. Pargowker took up his hat and buttoned his coat with the air of a man who washed his hands of the whole affair.
"If you attend to my orders," he said, speaking more sharply than was usual with him, "you will see no one. But I know you of old, Miss Corbin. You expect to be cured, but won't do what you're told."
"Good Heavens!" ejaculated Aunt Jelly, with feeble merriment. "Have you taken to poetry also? The idea is good, doctor, but the poetry is worse than Minnie's."
"Oh, Miss Jelly!" murmured Minnie, in tearful protest.
"Well, well," said Pargowker, good-humouredly, shaking hands with Miss Corbin, "poetry or not, dear lady, do what I tell you. Keep yourself calm, see no one, take this prescription, and I think, yes, I think you will be quite safe."
"I've no doubt about it," cried Aunt Jelly, as he paused at the door, "safe for the nearest cemetery. Go along with you, doctor. I tell you I've made up my mind to see my nephew. It's a case of life and death."
"Certainly with you, dear lady--certainly with you," said Dr. Pargowker emphatically. "Miss Pelch, will you honour me by seeing me to the door?"
"You want to talk about me behind my back," said Miss Corbin, suspiciously. "It's no use. I'll make Minnie tell me everything." She darted a threatening look at that young lady, which made her shake, and then Minnie disappeared through the door, while the doctor prepared to follow, first giving a parting word to his refractory patient.
"It's no use, dear lady," he said, with playful ponderousness, "calling in the doctor if you don't intend to obey him."