“Oh, yes, come on, Mr Leigh, and put my niece right as soon as you can,” he said.
“But your regular medical attendant—Mr Rainsford, I believe?”
“You may believe he’s a pig-headed, obstinate old fool,” growled Wilton. “Wanted to take off my leg when I had a fall at a hedge, and the horse rolled over it. Simple fracture, sir; and swore it would mortify. I mortified him.”
“Yes, Mr Leigh, and the leg’s stronger now than the other,” interposed Mrs Wilton.
“How do you know, Maria?” said her husband gruffly.
“Well, my dear, you’ve often said so.”
“Humph! Come in again and see Miss Wilton, Doctor, and I shall feel obliged,” said the uncle. “Good morning. The dog-cart is waiting to drive you back. I’ll send and have you fetched about—er—four?”
“It would be better if it were left till seven or eight, unless, of course, there is need.”
“Eight o’clock, then,” said Wilton; and Pierce Leigh bowed and left the room, with the peculiar sensation growing once more in his breast, and lasting till he reached home, thinking of how long it would be before eight o’clock arrived.