“Yes; but depend upon it, my dear boy, that was a hasty marriage. The gentleman said snip, and she said snap. Wasn’t it so?”
“Yes; I think you are right,” said Glyddyr.
“What a temper that woman must have. They tell me she deliberately stepped off the pier to follow him, or drown herself in a fit of passion.”
“Well, I’ll take your advice, sir,” said Glyddyr, hurriedly changing the conversation. “Of course, I can’t help feeling impatient.”
“No, of course, no,” said Gartram. “Come in,” he added, as there was a timid knock at the door.
“I beg pardon, sir, but Doctor Asher said I was to be particular as to time.”
Sarah Woodham entered the room with a small tray, bearing glass and bottle.
There was a peculiar, shrinking, furtive look about the woman, that would have impressed a stranger unfavourably; but Glyddyr was too intent upon his own business, and Gartram already disliked his old servant, and did not shrink about showing it.
“Oh!” he said roughly. “Well, pour it out. Won’t take a glass, I suppose, Glyddyr?”
“Oh, no, thanks. Not my favourite bin.”