“Of course this is not a professional visit, Mrs Alleyne,” said Oldroyd; and then he wished he had not said it, for Mrs Alleyne’s face showed the lines a little more deeply, and there was a slight twitching about her lips.
“I am sorry that Mr Alleyne has not yet returned,” she said, and as soon as they were seated, she smiled, and tried to remove the restraint that had fallen upon them in the dreary room.
“I am very grateful to you, Mr Oldroyd,” she said; “my son is wonderfully better.”
“And would be in a position to laugh all doctors in the face, if he would carry out my prescriptions a little more fully,” said Oldroyd. “But we must not be too hard upon him. I think it is a great thing to wean him from his studies as we have.”
“You dreadfully conceited man,” thought Lucy. “How dare you have the shamelessness to think you have done all this! I know better. No man could have done it—there.”
“Did you speak, Miss Alleyne?” said Oldroyd, looking round suddenly, and finding Lucy’s eyes intent upon him.
“I? No,” cried Lucy, flushing; and then biting her lips with annoyance, because her cheeks burned, “I was listening to you and mamma.”
“It is quite time Moray returned,” said Mrs Alleyne, anxiously glancing towards the closed window.
“Yes, mamma; we shall hear his step directly,” said Lucy.
“He does not generally stay so long,” continued Mrs Alleyne, going to the window to draw aside the curtain and look out. “Did he say which way he would go, Lucy?”