Prayle started, and shifted his position quickly. Lady Scarlett did not move, beyond looking up at the doctor anxiously, as his stern face was turned towards her.
“I beg your pardon,” he said; “I did not know that you were engaged.”
“Mr Prayle was explaining some business matters to me,” said Lady Scarlett. “Don’t go away. You said you should like to talk to me this morning.”
“Yes,” replied the doctor coldly; “but the business will keep.”
“Oh no; I beg you will not go,” said Lady Scarlett anxiously.
“Perhaps I shall be de trop,” said Prayle smoothly, and his voice and looks forbade the idea that they were in the slightest degree malicious.
“Well, as my remarks are for Lady Scarlett alone, Mr Prayle, perhaps you would kindly give me half an hour.”
“Certainly,” cried Prayle, with a great assumption of frankness.—“Lady Scarlett will tell me, perhaps, when she would like to go on with these accounts?”
“Oh, at any time, Arthur,” said Lady Scarlett anxiously. “Pray, do not think I am slighting them: but this seems of so much more importance now.”
“When and where you please,” said Prayle softly. “Don’t study me. I have only my cousin’s interest at heart.” He rose, smiling, and left the room; but the smile passed off Prayle’s countenance as the door closed; and he went out angry-looking and biting his lip, to walk up and down the garden, turning from time to time to the book he held in his hand.