The bookseller, who was under the impression that he had quoted from the “Christmas Carol,” merely smiled and remained silent.
“My father, the Senator,” began Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles, “was troubled with colds during his political career. I remember his saying that the Senate Chamber at the Capitol was extremely draughty. Possibly Mr. Pearson’s ailment does come from sleeping in a draught. Not that father was accustomed to sleep during the sessions—Oh, dear, no! not that, of course. How absurd!”
She laughed gayly. Pearson, who seemed to think it time to say something, declared that, so far as he knew, he had no cold or any symptoms of one.
“Well,” said Mrs. Hepton, with conviction, “something ails you, I know. We can all see it; can’t we?” turning to the rest of the company. “Why, you’ve scarcely spoken since you sat down at the table. And you’ve eaten next to nothing. Perhaps there is some trouble, something on your mind which is worrying you. Oh, I hope not!”
“No doubt it is the preoccupation of genius,” remarked Mrs. Dickens. “I’m sure it must be that. When ‘C.’ is engaged with some particularly trying literary problem he frequently loses all his appetite and does not speak for hours together. Isn’t it so, dear?”
“C.,” who was painfully conscious that he might have made a miscue in the matter of the quotation, answered sharply.
“No,” he said. “Not at all. Don’t be silly, Maria.”
Miss Sherborne clasped her hands. “I know!” she exclaimed in mock rapture; “Mr. Pearson is in love!”
This suggestion was received with applause and hilarity. Pearson pushed back his chair and rose.
“I’m much obliged for this outburst of sympathy,” he observed, dryly. “But, as I say, I’m perfectly well, and the other diagnoses are too flattering to be true. Good morning.”