“God bless you, my dear boy.”
And then he stopped, and stood gazing through the window at the pleasant little party, as two neatly-dressed maids entered and began to remove the tea-things, one taking out the great plated urn, while the other collected the cups and saucers.
“The old man hasn’t bad taste in maids,” he said, with his voice still a little shaky, and as if he wanted to steady it before going on with something he wished to say. “Why don’t he have men?”
“He will not. He prefers to have maids about.”
“Then he ought to have ugly ones,” continued the Doctor, who keenly watched the movements of the slight, pretty, fair girl who was collecting the cups, and who exchanged glances with Jessop Reed as she took the cup and saucer he handed her. “A man who has two ugly scoundrels of sons has no business to keep damsels like that.”
“This ugly scoundrel is always out and busy over mining matters; that ugly scoundrel is living away at chambers, money-making at the Stock Exchange,” said Clive, smiling.
“Humph! Mining and undermining. Well, young men like to look at pretty girls.”
“Of course, Doctor,” said Clive. “I do. I’m looking now at the prettiest, sweetest—”
“Don’t be a young fool,” cried the Doctor testily. “I can describe Janet better than you can. Now, look here, boy; I’ve got two things to say to you. First of all, about this ‘White Virgin’.”
“Yours?” said Clive, still glancing at Janet, over whom his brother was now bending, as the maid who carried the tray made the cups dash as she opened the door, and then hurried out as if to avoid a scolding.