“Let me prescribe. A cup of strong coffee, or a liqueur of brandy. Miss Gartram, may I ring?”
“I will go and see that they are brought in,” said Mary, leaving the piano, where she was arranging a piece of music.
“No, no; I beg you will not,” said Glyddyr. “I’ll walk down to the harbour in the fresh night air. My men will be waiting. I said ten—they must be there now. Better soon.”
“Mr Gartram does have some strong cigars,” said the doctor quietly. “Singular that nicotine from one leaf affects you more than another.”
“I am sorry you feel unwell, Mr Glyddyr,” said Claude, in the most matter-of-fact tone.
“Mere trifle—nothing. Most absurd in me.”
“Pray let me ring for the spirit stand.”
“Indeed, no. Good-night—good-night, Miss Dillon. I’m going to be independent of you, Doctor Asher. Good-night.”
“Smokes too much, I’m afraid,” said the doctor, as the door was closed on Glyddyr’s retreating figure. “Seems unnerved. I shall be called upon to prescribe for him, only I’m afraid that you would quarrel with my medicine, Miss Gartram.”
“I?” said Claude quickly.