“He should not choose scoundrels for his companions,” said Huish coldly.
“H’m, no, of course not,” said the doctor, coughing, and hurrying to change the conversation. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me all this when you came last?”
“How could I?” said Huish, smiling. “I was not a prophet.”
“Prophet, no! but why keep it secret then?”
“Secret? Well,” said Huish; “but really—I was not justified in telling it then.”
“What I not when you had been married?”
“I don’t understand you,” said Huish, with his countenance changing.
“I mean,” said the doctor, “why didn’t you tell me when you were here a fortnight ago; and—let me see,” he continued, referring to his note-book, “you were due here last Wednesday, and again yesterday.”
John Huish drew a long breath, and the pupils of his eyes contracted as he said quietly:
“Why, doctor, I told you that I had been on the Continent, and only returned two days ago.”