"Thought so!" said Quinney, as he attacked the cold beef.
Unhappily, Mrs. Biddlecombe was beguiled into eating heartily of the mackerel, desiring to assert her faith in its freshness and her confidence in the fishmonger. Conversation languished. Presently, Quinney jumped to his feet and raced upstairs. He tapped at his wife's door. The nurse opened it, and as she did so the husband heard a faint moan.
"You can't come in now," said the nurse.
"I'm not coming in. You tell my wife, with my love, not to eat any mackerel, and don't you touch it yourself, if you want to be fit and well to-night."
He returned to the dining-room feeling, for the first time, that he had been of practical service to omnipotent woman! But the faint moan had destroyed his appetite. He told Mrs. Biddlecombe that he intended to walk up and down the garden.
"You'll be within call?"
"Of course. Any notion when the doctor will be wanted?"
"He may be wanted at any minute."
"You may want him before Susan does!"
He shut the door before the astonished lady could reply.