“Mamma, mamma, dear!” cried Madelaine, smiling through her tears; “can you not see that Dr Knatchbull is laughing at us?”
“No, my dear,” said the little lady angrily; “but if he is, I must say that it is too serious a matter for a joke.”
“So it is, my dear madam,” said the doctor, taking her hand, “far too serious; but I felt in such high spirits to find that we have won the fight, that I was ready to talk any nonsense. All the same though, with some people it’s as true as true.”
“Yes, but we are not some people,” said Mrs Van Heldre. “But now tell us what we are to do.”
“Nothing, my dear madam, but let him have rest and peace.”
“But he has been asking for Mr Crampton this morning, and that means business.”
“Well, let him see him to-morrow, if he asks. If he is not allowed, he will fidget, and that will do him more harm than seeing him, only I would not let him dwell on the attack. Divert his attention all you can, and keep from him all you possibly can about the Vines.”
John Van Heldre did not ask for his confidential clerk for two days more, the greater part of which time he spent in sleep; but in the intervals he talked in a low voice to his wife or Madelaine, not even alluding once, to their great surprise, to the cause of his illness.
“He must know it, mamma,” said Madelaine, sadly; “and he is silent, so as to spare me.”
At last the demand for Crampton was made, and the old clerk heard it looking eager and pleased.