“Nothing at all,” he said firmly, “but low spirits from mental causes, and these are matters for which mothers and fathers must prescribe.”
“It’s—it’s—doosed hard to be so short of money,” said his lordship to himself as he was left alone; and then thinking of the tongue, he tried to get to the door, but a look from her ladyship sent him back. “It’s—it’s—doosed hard. I shall have to go to little Tryphie again. He, he, he! her ladyship don’t know,” he chuckled, “I’ve—I’ve left her five thousand in my will, bless her. I wish she’d buy me some more Bath buns.”
He crossed to where the bright little girl was standing, and she advanced to him directly.
“Can you lend me another five shillings, Tryphie?” he whispered.
“Yes, uncle,” she replied, nodding and smiling. “I’ll get it and put it under the china dog on the right hand cabinet.”
“That’s right, my dear; it’s—it’s—it’s so doosed awkward to be so short, and I don’t like to ask her ladyship.”
“Well, I must go,” said the doctor loudly. “Good-bye all. Good-bye, my dear,” he continued to Maude. Then he pinched Tryphie’s cheek, shook hands with the old man and was gone.
“So clever,” sighed her ladyship, “that we look over his rough, eccentric ways. I believe that I should not have been here now if it had not been for his skill.”
“Then damn the doctor,” said Tom to himself, for he was in a very unfilial mood.
“Oh, by the way,” said the gentleman spoken of, as he came hurriedly back, sending the door open so that it banged upon a chair, “Lady Maude, my dear, you are only to take that medicine when you feel low.”