“No, my dear, no,” he replied calmly; “I’m afraid I neglected several, and they talked about it among themselves. These things will spread.”
“Are there any means left of—pray forgive me, dear—of raising a little money?”
“No, my dear, I think not. But don’t trouble about it. Any day now I may have my discovery complete, and then—but really, my dear, this is wasting time. I must get on with my work.”
He rose, and Richmond sighed as with courtly grace he raised her hand and kissed it, smiling it her sadly and shaking his head.
“So like your dear mother,” he said; “even to the tones of your voice. Don’t let me be disturbed, Richmond. I am getting to a critical point.”
He slowly crossed the room, gazing dreamily before him, and passed out, while his child stood listening to his step along the passage at the back of the side-board till the door of the surgery was heard to close, when, clasping her hands, she gazed up at the Prince Regent, as if he were some kind of a fat idol, and exclaimed passionately, “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
A violent twitch made her raise her hand to her face, which was contracted with pain, and she drew her breath hard; but the pang seemed to pass away, and after ringing the bell she began busily to pack the breakfast-things together.
Before she had half done, the door opened softly, and a rather dirty face was thrust in. It was the face of an old-looking boy with snub-nose, large mouth, and a rough, shock head bristling over his prominent forehead, and all redeemed by as bright and roguish-looking a pair of eyes as ever shone out from beneath a low type of head.
The door was only opened wide enough at first to admit the head, but as soon as its owner had given a glance round, the door opened farther, and the rest of a rather small person appeared, dressed in a well-worn page’s button suit, partly hidden by a dirty green-baize bibbed apron.
The boy’s sleeves were tucked up, and he was carrying a pair of old-fashioned Wellington boots by the tops, and these boots he held up on high.