“Delightful, my dear sir. Perfect.”
“No, not perfect. Sea winds cut the things up too much. Regularly blast them sometimes. Here, come on one side; I want to talk to you about something else.”
He looked sharply at Claude, who was listening politely to some remarks of Glyddyr, while Mary was turning over the leaves of a book.
“Mary, my dear, I wish you would go and write to those people about the carriage; it’s quite time we heard from them. Oh, and by the way, there’s your aunt; write to her.”
“May I write here, uncle?”
“Eh? No. I shall want to sit down and write myself directly.”
Claude’s lips twitched, but she made no other sign, and Mary turned towards the door.
“It’s very clever of you, uncle dear,” she said to herself; “but it is of no use whatever.”
As the door closed, Gartram, who had risen, took the doctor’s arm, and walked with him towards the window.
“Look here,” he said, “I wanted to speak to you about that stuff. It isn’t strong enough. It used to be right, but I suppose I’ve got accustomed to it. Six months ago a dose sent me into a comfortable sleep. Now, two doses seem to have no effect whatever.”