“Tut tut, Mrs Dunn,” said the lawyer, blowing his nose more softly, “but he is. I telegraphed to Oxford last night for Professor Preston to meet me here at eleven this morning. I have had no answer, but he may come. Eccentric man, Mrs Dunn.”
“Why you’re never going to have him here to talk the poor boy to death.”
“Indeed but I am, Mrs Dunn, for I do not believe what you say is possible, unless done by a woman—an old woman,” said the lawyer looking at the old lady fixedly.
“Well I’m sure!” exclaimed Mrs Dunn, and the doctor rose.
“You had better get that prescription made up, Mrs Dunn, and go on as before.”
“One moment, doctor,” said the lawyer, and he drew him aside for a brief conversation to ensue.
“Bless me! very sad,” said the lawyer; and then, as Mrs Dunn showed the doctor out, the old gentleman took some more snuff, and then performed upon his nose in one of the windows; opposite the fire; in one corner; then in another; and then he was finishing with a regular coach-horn blast when he stopped half-way, and stared, for Mrs Dunn was standing in the doorway with her large florid cap tilted forward in consequence of her having stuck her fingers in her ears.
“Could you hear me using my handkerchief, Mrs Dunn?” said the lawyer.
“Could I hear you? Man alive!” cried the old lady, in a tone full of withering contempt, “could I hear that!”