Mr Drelincourt had not the smallest desire to meet Rule at the moment, and he sent a hasty message downstairs that he was unable to receive anyone. Congratulating himself on having acted with considerable presence of mind, he composed himself against a bank of pillows, and resumed his study of the Morning Chronicle.
He was interrupted by his cousin’s pleasant voice. “I am sorry you are too ill to receive me, Crosby,” said the Earl, walking into the room.
Mr Drelincourt gave prodigious start, and let the Morning Chronicle fall. His eyes goggled at Rule, and he said between alarm and indignation: “I told my man I could not see visitors!”
“I know you did,” replied the Earl, laying his hat and cane on a chair. “He delivered your message quite properly. Short of laying hands on me there was no stopping me, no stopping me at all, my dear Crosby.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why you was so anxious to see me,” said Mr Drelincourt, wondering how much his lordship had heard.
The Earl looked rather surprised. “But how would it be otherwise, Crosby? My heir desperately wounded, and I not at his side?. Come, come, my dear fellow, you must not believe me so heartless!”
“You are very obliging, Marcus, but I find myself still too weak to converse,” said Mr Drelincourt.
“It must have been a deadly wound, Crosby,” said his lordship sympathetically.
“Oh, as to that, Dr Hawkins does not consider my case desperate. A deep thrust, and I have lost a monstrous amount of blood, and had a deal of fever, but the lung is unharmed.”
“You relieve me, Crosby. I feared that I might be called upon to arrange your obsequies. A melancholy thought!”