“Done him in? What an expression!”
Brian, meanwhile, had sauntered up to the open window. Suddenly he turned.
“Dr. Pawley is outside. Oughtn’t I to ask him in here?”
“Of course,” said Cicely. “And we’ll find out what he thinks.”
II
Dr. Pawley had introduced both Brian and Cicely to this wicked world. Failing in health and energy, he carried with him a kind, whimsical face, slightly sunk between high, narrow shoulders. Chronic sciatica made him limp a little. In the pockets of his ill-fitting rusty coat he carried sugar-plums which he popped deftly into the mouths of howling children. From this it may be inferred that he was not an up-to-date practitioner, and perhaps the more beloved in Upworthy on that account. An old bachelor of small independent means, Lady Selina had long ago accepted him as a friend and counsellor. He dined at the Manor constantly in those remote days when medical attendants were rarely offered luncheon. County magnates were less supercilious when they remarked the esteem which Dr. Pawley had inspired in Henry Chandos and his wife. And ultimately they, too, accepted him and entertained him, almost regarding him as one of themselves. Pawley himself knew that he owed his somewhat unique position in the county to Lady Selina. Unbefriended by her, he would have remained obscure and ignored by the quality. She gave him the opportunity which he had seized. After that he had held his own as a talker and a listener. And he scorned gossip, although he might swallow it with a faint smile curving his thin, sensitive lips.
Cicely greeted him warmly.
“How nice of you to come to our tea-fight.”
“How are you, Pawley?” asked the parson.
“I’m not pulling my weight, Goodrich. People make cheap jokes about doctors and a sickly season, but I want a partner and a holiday, and I mean to have both.”