Carlyon nodded, and walked to the door. The doctor followed him, out onto the landing. “You will not do it, my lord!”
“I shall do it. It is what he wishes.”
“He does not understand above half of what you would be at! In all the years of my practice I never met a creature so wholly devoid of good! Well I know what patience you have used toward him, what forbearance! It seems to make him hate you the more. He is a vile fellow! But this—! No, it will not do, my lord!”
“It will do very well. He does not know why I do it, but it is what he wants, and since I have no purpose in my head but to escape an inheritance I do not desire, I shall not sleep the less sound for having in some sort deceived him.”
“Ay, but will it answer, my lord?” the doctor urged. “To marry him out of hand now might not prove of service to Mr. Nicholas. It must seem—”
“Oh, I am not thinking of Nicky!” Carlyon said. “He stands in no danger. But it will be better for the lady if it is not generally known that she sees Cheviot for the first time this evening. I think that may be contrived.”
“Good God!” said the doctor weakly. “Is it so indeed? You go quite beyond me, my lord! How will you contrive it?”
“Oh, a long-standing betrothal, perhaps—kept secret.”
“Kept secret!” exploded Greenlaw. “And why?”
Carlyon was halfway down the first flight of stairs but he paused and looked up, his rather rare smile softening his face. “My dear sir! For fear of my devilish stratagems, of course!”