“You never said a word to me, sir, about caring for science when I consented to come out with you to this dreadful, hot, damp place, where everything that does not turn mouldy is eaten by ants.”
“The damp and the ants are great nuisances, my dear,” said the doctor. “They have destroyed numbers of my best specimens.”
“They have destroyed my beautiful piano that I was foolish enough to bring out,” said Mrs Bolter. “Grey Stuart opened it yesterday, and the damp has melted the glue, and the ants have eaten up all the leather of the hammers. The wires are rusty, and the instrument is totally spoiled.”
“Never mind, my dear, so long as the climate does not affect your constitution,” said the doctor, cheerfully.
“Oh, by the way,” said Mrs Bolter, “that reminds me of two things. First of all, Bolter, I will not have you so fond of talking to the young ladies at the dinner parties to which we go. You remember what I said to you about your conduct with Miss Morrison?”
“Yes, my dear, perfectly,” said the doctor, with a sigh.
“Secondly, about medicine. Now, it is of no use for you to deny it, for I feel as sure as can be that you have been giving me some medicine on the sly these last few days.”
“Why, my darling!” cried the doctor.
“It is of no use for you to put on that injured expression, Henry, because I know; and mind this, I don’t accuse you of trying to poison me, but of trying experiments with new-fangled drugs, and I tell you I won’t have it.”
The doctor protested his innocence, but the lady was not convinced; and apparently under the impression that it would be as well to submit, he allowed her to go on till she reached the top of her bent, when she suddenly changed the topic.