“Hah!” ejaculated the firm-looking grey-haired doctor, who had taken high honours at his college, practised medicine for some years, and since the death of his wife lived the calm life of a student in the old Manor House of Coleby.
“Now, you couldn’t make a statesman of some boys whom you took out of the gutter.”
“Oh yes, I could,” said the doctor. “Oh yes, sir.”
“Ah, well; we will not argue,” said Sir James good-humouredly.
“No,” said the doctor, “we will not argue.”
But they did argue all the same, till they had had their coffee, when they argued again, and then joined the ladies in the drawing-room, where Master Edgar was eating cake, and dropping currants and crumbs between the leaves of a valuable illustrated book, which he turned over with fingers in a terrible state of stick,—the consequence being that he added illustrations—prints of his fingers in brown.
“Have you settled your debate, Dr Grayson!” said Lady Danby, smiling.
“No, madam; I shall have to prove my theory to your husband, and it will take time.”
“My dear James, what is the matter!” said her ladyship as a howl arose.
“Pa says I’m to go to bed, ma, and it’s only ten; and you promised me I might sit up as long as I liked.”