“Would you mind telling Dr Bolter I want to speak to him for a moment—just a moment?”
“Certainly not,” said Chumbley; and he rose slowly, as if a good deal of caution was required in getting his big body perpendicular; after which he crossed to where the doctor was chatting to Grey Stuart.
“Here, doctor, get up,” he said. “Your colonel says you are to go to her directly. There’s such a row brewing!”
“No, no! Gammon!” said the little man, uneasily. “Mrs Bolter didn’t send you, did she?”
“Yes. Honour bright! and if I were you I’d go at once and throw myself on her mercy. You’ll get off more easily.”
“No, but Chumbley, what is it? ’Pon my word I don’t think I’ve done anything to upset her to-day.”
“I don’t know. There; she’s looking this way! ’Pon my honour, doctor, you’d better go!”
Dr Bolter rose with a sigh, and crossed to his lady, while Chumbley took his place, and threw himself back, laughing softly the while.
“If that was a trick, Mr Chumbley,” said Grey, gazing at him keenly, “it is very cruel of you!”
“But it wasn’t a trick, Miss Stuart. She sent me to fetch him. The poor little woman was getting miserable because the doctor was so attentive to you.”