“Oh, one moment, Henry,” said Mrs Doctor. “There was something else I wished to ascertain.”
“What, another something else?” groaned the doctor.
“Yes, another something else, sir. You promised me, that if you could not quite check that terrible habit of yours of talking about Ophir and King Solomon, that you would modify it.”
“Yes, my dear,” said the doctor, giving his ear a rub, and accompanying it by a submissive look.
“I heard you last night exciting the ridicule of all the gentlemen by your pertinacious declarations regarding that mythical idea.”
“Don’t say ridicule, my dear.”
“But I do say ridicule, Henry, and I object to having my husband laughed at by ignorant people—he being a very clever man. So be careful in the future. Now you may go.”
“For three days, my dear?”
“Yes; and pray take care of yourself.”
“I will, my darling,” he cried, in delight; and he was about to embrace the lady warmly, when a step was heard in the veranda, and a voice exclaiming: