Sir Willoughby conveyed by a shake of the head and a pressure of Mr.
Dale's hand, that he was not, and that he was quite.
"Dr Middleton?" said Mr. Dale.
"He leaves us to-morrow."
"Really!" The invalid wore a look as if wine had been poured into him. He routed his host's calculations by calling to the Rev. Doctor. "We are to lose you, sir?"
Willoughby attempted an interposition, but Dr. Middleton crashed through it like the lordly organ swallowing a flute.
"Not before I score my victory, Mr. Dale, and establish my friend upon his rightful throne."
"You do not leave to-morrow, sir?"
"Have you heard, sir, that I leave to-morrow?"
Mr. Dale turned to Sir Willoughby.
The latter said: "Clara named to-day. To-morrow I thought preferable."