Mrs. Agar was now beginning to realise what was at stake. The mother's love was re-awakening. The old cunning look came into her eyes, and her quick, truthless mind was evidently on the alert. There was something animal-like in Mrs. Agar; but she was of the lower order of animal, that seeks to defend its young by cunning and not by sheer bravery.
Ruthine must have guessed at something, for he said at once:
“Remember what you have told me. You will have to repeat that exactly. Add nothing to it, take nothing from it, or you will spoil it. Tell me, has your son seen this man more than once?”
“No, only once; at Cambridge.”
“All right; I think I shall be able to prove it.”
As he spoke he went towards the writing-table and, sitting down, he wrote out a prescription. Dora followed him and held out her hand for the paper.
“Send for that at once, please,” he said.
Then he beckoned to Jem.
“I have sent for the local doctor,” he said to him. “But I should advise having some one else—Llandoller from Harley Street. This is far above our heads.”
“Telegraph for him,” answered Jem Agar.