"Did—I—not—tell, tell—you,—n-o-t to come in," sobbed Julia.
The Doctor's face was partly hidden by his plumes, but that portion of it which was visible, resembled nothing so much in color, as a boiled lobster.
It now occurred to the Doctor, to release his grasp upon the waist of Julia. He left her to herself, and she fell on her knees, burying her face in her hands. As for the Doctor himself, he slid slowly into a chair, never once removing his gaze, from the three gentlemen on the sofa. Thus confronting them in his cardinal's attire, with the white plumes nodding over his forehead, he seemed, in the language of the chairman of a town meeting, "to be waiting for this here meeting to proceed to business."
There was a pause,—a painful and embarrassing pause.
The three sat like statues, only that Mr. Potts rubbed the end of his nose, with the top of his cane.
Why could not Dr. Bulgin, after the manner of the Genii in the Arabian Nights, disappear through the floor, in a cloud of mist and puff of perfume?
"Well,—gentlemen,—" said Bulgin at last, for the dead silence began to drive him mad, and made him hear all sorts of noises, in his ears,—"what are you doing in this place, at this unusual hour!"
This was a pointed question, to which Mr. Burns felt called upon to reply. He rose, and again the nose loomed largely, as he bowed,—
"Precisely the question which we were about to ask you," he said, and was seated again.
Mr. Potts took his turn: