“Are you prepared, Cheriton, to better George’s offer?”
“It wants thinking over,” said that idealist, thoughtfully.
The old woman’s upper lip took its famous and terrible double curl, while her head-dress seemed to erect itself into a veritable panoply of grim derision.
“Yes, Cheriton,” said she, “think it over. I will give you a week.”
“Say a fortnight.”
“A week. A fortnight would not be fair to George.”
Mr. Marchbanks entered on tip-toe.
“Sir Wotherspoon Ogle, my lady.”
The negotiations were curtailed by the entrance of the eminent physician.
“How pleasant it is to see you looking so much improved,” said Sir Wotherspoon. “Complete rest of mind and body have done wonders for you.”