I was fidgeting to go, but he took hold of one of the ends of my little check silk tie, and kept fiddling it about between his finger and thumb.
“What’s the matter?”
“Dr Morrison told Mrs Beeton, our landlady, that it was decline, sir.”
“And then Mrs Beeton told you?”
“No, sir, I heard the doctor tell her.”
“And then you went and frightened the poor thing and made her worse by telling her?”
“No, I did not, sir,” I said warmly.
“Why not?”
“Because I thought it might make her worse.”
“Humph! Hah! Poor dear lady!” he said more softly. “Looked too ill to come to church last Sunday, boy. Flowers and fruit for her?”