“Oh, yes, I remember,” said Mrs Bolter.
“Well, I honestly believe that if she were taken there she’d begin making eyes at the wax figures.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs Bolter, stiffly. “And so she began to make eyes at you!”
“That she did, the jade,” said the doctor, chuckling, “and—and—ha, ha, ha—ho, ho, ho! don’t—ha, ha, ha!—say a word about it, my dear—there was nothing the matter with her but young girl’s whimsical fancies; and she made me so cross with her fads and languishing airs, and then by making such a dead set at me, that I—ha, ha, ha—ho, ho, ho—”
“Bolter,” exclaimed Mrs B, “if you confess to me that you kissed her I’ll have a divorce—I’ll go straight back to England?”
“Kiss her? Not I!—ho, ho, ho!—I gave her such a dose; and I kept her extremely poorly for about a week. She—she hates me like she does physic. Oh, dear me!”
The doctor wiped his eyes, burst into another fit of laughing, and then, after another wipe at his eyes, his face smoothed down and he grew composed.
“Then it’s a pity you don’t give her another dose of medicine,” said his lady, “and prevent her doing so much mischief as she is doing here.”
“But really, my dear, you have no right to accuse me of being extra polite to Helen Perowne.”
“I did not, and I was not about to accuse you of being extra polite to Helen Perowne—extra polite, as you call it, sir; but I was about to connect her name with that of other gentlemen, and not with that of my husband.”