“Well, sympathy’s all very well,” said the doctor, smiling in rather an amused way; “but I don’t see why you need get excited about it.”
“Oh, but it is horrible.”
“Dreadful!” echoed Prayle.
“Then I must have been an idiot to introduce it here, where all is so calm and peaceful,” said the doctor. “Fancy what a shock it would give us all if we were suddenly to hear an omnibus go blundering by. James Scarlett, you are a lucky man. You have everything a fellow could desire in this world: money, a delightful home, the best of health—”
“The best of wives,” said Prayle softly. “Thank you for that, Arthur,” said Scarlett, turning and smiling upon the speaker.
“Humph! Perhaps I was going to say that myself,” said the doctor sourly. “Hah! you’re a lucky man.”
“Well, I don’t grumble,” said Scarlett, laughing. “You fellows come down here just when everything’s at its best; but there is such a season as winter, you know.”
“Of course there is, stupid!” said the doctor. “If there wasn’t, who would care for fickle spring?”
“May the winter of adversity never come to your home, Cousin James,” said Prayle softly: and he looked at his frank, manly young host with something like pathetic interest as he spoke.
“Thank you, old fellow, thank you.—Now, let’s join the ladies.”