“Never,” cried Mrs Van Heldre, wringing his hand.
“Bah!” exclaimed the doctor, “that’s what you people say now that you have got to the turn; but by and by when I send in my bill—and I mean to make this a pretty stiff one, Mrs Van Heldre—you will all be as grumpy as possible, and think it a terrible overcharge.”
“Well, really, Dr Knatchbull,” began Mrs Van Heldre, ruffling up like an aggravated hen, “I am quite sure my clear husband will pay any—”
“Mamma, mamma, dear!” cried Madelaine, smiling through her tears; “can you not see that Dr Knatchbull is laughing at us?”
“No, my dear,” said the little lady angrily; “but if he is, I must say that it is too serious a matter for a joke.”
“So it is, my dear madam,” said the doctor, taking her hand, “far too serious; but I felt in such high spirits to find that we have won the fight, that I was ready to talk any nonsense. All the same though, with some people it’s as true as true.”
“Yes, but we are not some people,” said Mrs Van Heldre. “But now tell us what we are to do.”
“Nothing, my dear madam, but let him have rest and peace.”
“But he has been asking for Mr Crampton this morning, and that means business.”
“Well, let him see him to-morrow, if he asks. If he is not allowed, he will fidget, and that will do him more harm than seeing him, only I would not let him dwell on the attack. Divert his attention all you can, and keep from him all you possibly can about the Vines.”