“But, my dear Mrs Mullion, I’m not an invalid!” laughed Geoffrey. “The only consumption I suffer from is that of the pocket.”
“Hallo! You here?” said old Mr Paul, stumping in.
“Yes, Thomas. I was advising Mr Trethick about his health.”
“Stuff! He’s all health! Don’t take any notice of her, Trethick, or she’ll want to put you in a poultice every night! There, be off, woman!”
“Yes, dear, I’m going,” said the little woman, gently.
“She’ll be giving you beef-tea and arrow-root till you can’t see,” growled the old fellow. “I believe she was a nurse once.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, before she was born what she is.”
Geoffrey stared.
“And that she’ll be a hen next, like Mrs Rumsey, to set on eggs and cluck over chickens.”