Mr Purley was filling out an easy-chair, having picked out one without arms for obvious reasons, and he was gossiping away to Mrs Glaire.
“How do, Purley?” said Richard, with a face as smooth as if nothing had occurred to fret him. “Glad to see you.”
“Glad to see you too, Glaire; but you don’t say, ‘How are you?’”
“Who does to a doctor,” laughed Richard. “Why you couldn’t be ill if you tried.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed Mr Purley. “Well, if I’m not ill, I’m hungry.”
“Always are,” said Richard, with a sneer; and then seeing that his retort was a little too pointed, he blunted it by pandering to the stout medico’s favourite joke, and adding, “Taken any one for a ride lately?”
“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the doctor. “That’s good! He’s getting a regular Joe Miller in kid gloves, Mrs Glaire: that he is. Ha-ha-ha!”
Richard gave a short side nod, for he was already crossing the room to the flower-stand.
“Talking about flowers?” he said, quietly. “That’s pretty. I didn’t know they’d asked you to dinner, Mr Selwood, and you must have thought me very gruff.”
“Don’t name it,” said the vicar, frankly; but he was looking into the younger man’s eyes in a way that made him turn them aside in a shifty manner, and begin picking nervously at the leaves of a plant as he went on—