“If you see her, tell her I’m up by the drawing-room window. People keep going, and she’s not here.”
“All right.”
“By the way, when can I see you to-morrow?” said Mr Perowne, eagerly. “I want to chat over that matter with you.”
“I shall be in my office all day if you like to call.”
“Yes; to be sure—of course. I’ll call in,” said the merchant, hastily, as if the business was unpleasant to him; and he went away muttering.
“Hah!” grunted the old merchant, “pride must have a fall, they say; and when pride does fall, it always bumps itself pretty hard upon the stones.”
The remarks made by Mrs Bolter to her husband, as they left the old Scotch merchant, were of rather a forcible nature; but there was this excuse for her: that she was very hot and extremely tired after the long evening in the enervating climate; and this had no doubt acidified her temper. But no matter what she said, the amiable little doctor took it all in good part.
He was a naturalist and student of the human frame, and it was quite natural, he told himself, that his wife should be cross now that she was weary.
“Babies are always fretful when they are tired,” he said to himself; “and a woman is only a grownup baby. Poor little soul! she will be all right in the morning.”
“Why are we going in this direction, Dr Bolter?” said the little lady. “This is not the nearest way to the gate.”