The doctor started, and looked for the source of the gush of mirth.
A sweet ringing silvery laugh, that sounded like bell music in the gloomy room, for Lucy Alleyne had entered unheard, to catch the doctor’s last words, and burst into this girlish fit of merriment.
“Lucy!” exclaimed Mrs Alleyne with an angry glance, as she rose from her chair.
“Oh, I am so sorry, mamma. I beg your pardon, Mr Oldroyd, but it did seem so droll.”
She laughed again so merrily that it seemed infectious, and the young doctor would have joined in had not Mrs Alleyne been there; besides, as this was a professional call, he felt the necessity for some show of dignity.
“May I ask, Lucy, what is the meaning of this extremely unseemly mirth,” said Mrs Alleyne, with a good deal of annoyance in her tone.
“Don’t be angry with me, mamma dear, but it did seem so comical; the idea of Moray falling in love and being married.”
“I fail to see the ridiculous side of the matter,” said Mrs Alleyne, “especially at a time when Mr Oldroyd has been consulted by me upon the question of your brother’s health.”
“Oh, but you don’t think he is really ill, Mr Oldroyd, do you?” cried Lucy, anxiously.
“Indeed, I do not, Miss Alleyne. He requires nothing but plenty of open-air exercise, with more food and regular sleep.”