“I believe,” said Miss Morville prosaically, “that my sex is, in general, less squeamish than yours, my lord.” She then bade the doctor good-morning, observed with satisfaction that the Earl was looking better, and desired Dr. Malpas to visit the Dowager before he left Stanyon.
“Tell her I beg her pardon!” the Earl said, smiling, and stretching out his right hand, in an unconsciously welcoming gesture.
She looked at it, but she did not move from where she stood. In her most expressionless voice, she said: “Certainly, my lord.”
Dr. Malpas, having applied a fresh dressing to the wound, and bound up the Earl’s shoulder, had only to issue his instructions before announcing that he was ready to go to her ladyship. He made his patient grimace by prescribing thin gruel and repose; warned him that if he should try to exert himself too soon he would end in a high fever; and followed Miss Morville to the Dowager’s apartments.
The Earl, who was more exhausted by the doctor’s visit than he would own, dismissed Turvey; and, when the valet had withdrawn from the room, turned his head on the pillow to look at his friend. “Now, if you please, Lucy!”
“Dear old boy, no need to tease yourself! All’s right!”
“It teases me more to be kept in ignorance. You are hiding something from me, you and Miss Morville!”
“Fudge!” said the Viscount unconvincingly.
“Lucy, whatever may be your suspicions, don’t let anyone say that it was Martin who shot me! This story which the doctor and his gouty patient have set up will do very well! It must not be whispered all over the county that Martin tried to kill me!”
The Viscount was silent, fiddling with the bed-curtains. After a moment, Gervase said more strongly: “Lucy, I’m in earnest! Good God, only think what you would feel yourself!”