“That’s about all,” he said, “only that I owe my fine fellow for last night’s affair as well.”
“And about Mr Magnus?”
“Well, I went back, of course, to Sunflower Oil soap.”
“Went where?” cried Cynthia, in astonishment. “Oh, I see, you had made your hands dirty getting over the railings.”
“No, no,” said Artingale, laughing, “I mean I went back to Perry-Morton’s.”
“Oh, what a shame, to call him such a name,” said Cynthia, solemnly, but with her eyes sparkling with delight.
“And there was poor Magnus lying on the sofa in the dining-room, and a couple of doctors bandaging his head, after which he insisted upon being taken back to his chambers, and that’s about all.”
“But you’ve been to see him this morning, Harry?”
“I sat up with him all night, and he grew quite delirious, and talked a good deal about Julia.”
“Oh!” and a pause. “And is his hurt very bad, Harry?” said Cynthia, looking now rather white. “Will it kill him?”