“Perhaps I have,” his companion answered rather gravely.
These two were gentlemen of a race which is not distinguished by the absence of reserve, and they had travelled together from London to Rome without an allusion to matters that were uppermost in the mind of each. There was an old subject they had once discussed, but it had lost its recognised place in their attention, and even after their arrival in Rome, where many things led back to it, they had kept the same half-diffident, half-confident silence.
“I recommend you to get the doctor’s consent, all the same,” Lord Warburton went on, abruptly, after an interval.
“The doctor’s consent will spoil it. I never have it when I can help it.”
“What then does Mrs. Osmond think?” Ralph’s friend demanded. “I’ve not told her. She’ll probably say that Rome’s too cold and even offer to go with me to Catania. She’s capable of that.”
“In your place I should like it.”
“Her husband won’t like it.”
“Ah well, I can fancy that; though it seems to me you’re not bound to mind his likings. They’re his affair.”
“I don’t want to make any more trouble between them,” said Ralph.
“Is there so much already?”