They sat sipping their tea for a few minutes, the Doctor looking perfectly content now, Clive thoughtful; and the black marble clock on the chimneypiece struck six.
“Doctor,” said Clive at last, “I am bitterly grieved about this business: more so than I can express.”
“Then now throw it over as far as I am concerned. It was an error. I committed it, and I am punished. I have too much to think about to worry any more; so have you.”
“But I must make it up to you, sir.”
“What! Give me the money?”
“Yes.”
“Rubbish, boy! It is of no use to me. I should only go and lose that too.”
“But I feel to blame.”
“More fool you, sir. There, not another word. The money has gone. Jolly go with it. I should like you to read my pamphlet.”
“But, my dear sir—”