“And who is the old gentleman at all, James?” asked Dr O’Flaherty, as they passed down the corridor to Lady Seagrave’s room.
“That was General Grampound, doctor,” replied James.
“Faith, he looks it,” replied the other, as he tapped at the bedroom door.
Lady Seagrave was sitting up in bed, with a lace cap on her head, looking very grim and sombre.
“Come in,” said she. “Oh, that’s you—I expected you an hour ago—sit down. There’s no use talking to me,” added she, with a blaze of irritation, “for I’m deaf.”
“Faith, you’ve been a long time finding that out,” murmured O’Flaherty.
“It seized me yesterday morning,” went on the old woman. “I was quite right when I got up; I could hear what my maid said when she brought me my tea, and then it came on. Why don’t you answer me? You sit there without moving your lips like an image.”
“Hum, hum!” said O’Flaherty, whose temper and bluntness were proverbial, “you’ve been deaf in your ears and deaf in your senses all the time I’ve known you. Deaf! Faith, it’s a megaphone, not a trumpet, they’ll want to raise you out of your coffin with when the time comes.”
“There you are!” said Lady Seagrave. “I can tell what you say by the movements of your lips. It is not influenza—some doctors seem to have influenza on the brain.”
“Faith, and that’s a disease you’ll never have,” said the practitioner, taking a snuff-box from his pocket and a pinch.