"You know—you know, sinking seems very odd as a symptom of common gout in the great toe," said Dives, looking in his companion's face, and speaking rather like a man seeking than communicating information. "We must not frighten the ladies, you know; but I'm very much afraid of something in the stomach, eh? and possibly the heart."
"After all, sir," said Varbarriere, with a brisk effort, "Doctor—a—what's his name?—he's but a rural practitioner—an apothecary—is not it so?"
"The people here say, however, he's a very clever fellow, though," said Dives, not much comforted.
"We may hear a different story when the Slowton doctor comes. I venture to think we shall. I always fancied when gout was well out in the toe, the internal organs were safe. Oh! there's the Bishop."
"Just talking about poor Jekyl, my lord," said Dives, with a sad smile of deference, the best he could command.
"And—and how is my poor friend and pupil, Sir Jekyl?—better, I trust," responded the apostle in gaiters and apron.
"Well, my lord, we hope—I trust everything satisfactory; but the Doctor has been playing the sphinx with us, and I don't know exactly what to make of him."
"I saw Doctor Pratt for a moment, and expressed my wish to see his patient—my poor pupil—before I go, which must be—yes—within an hour," said the Bishop, consulting his punctual gold watch. "But he preferred my postponing until Doctor—I forget his name—very much concerned, indeed, that a second should be thought necessary—from Slowton—should have arrived. It—it gives me—I—I can't deny, a rather serious idea of it. Has he had many attacks?"
"Yes, my lord, several; never threatened seriously, but once—at Dartbroke, about two years ago—in the stomach."
"Ah! I forgot it was the stomach. I remember his illness though," said the Bishop, graciously.