“Yes. Nurse has just gone. You might have met her on the stairs. A message came for her—from Isabel, I suppose. I don’t mind. I told her not to hurry; I want to inure myself to being more alone.”
“And you wanted me, sir?”
“Yes, my boy,” said Elthorne. “Not particularly; but I knew that you had been seated over your wine for some time, and I thought you would not mind coming up to me for a little while. I get very dull sometimes, my dear boy. You do not mind?”
“No, sir, of course not.”
“Well, don’t look at me like that, Neil. It is the doctor examining me to see how I am. I want you to look like my son.”
Neil smiled.
“Ah, that’s better. Sit down close up here for a while. Burwood and Alison will have a cigar together, and not miss you.”
“Oh, no,” said Neil rather bitterly. “They do not care much for my society.”
“Why not?” cried his father sharply. “You are an able, cultured man—a clever surgeon.”
“But not a veterinary surgeon, father,” said Neil, smiling.