"No; I rather think she has postponed dying till after dinner—she ordered a very good one—and means to expire in her sitting-room, where you'll find her. And you have not been very well?"
"Remember the story he has just told you of your aunt Lorrimer, and take care he doesn't tell her the same story of you," said papa, laughing.
"I wish I could," said Doctor Droqville; "few things would please me better. That pain in the nerves of the head is a very real torment."
So he and mamma talked over her head-aches in an undertone for some minutes; and while this was going on there came in a note for mamma. The servant was was waiting for an answer in the hall.
"Shall I read it?" said papa, holding it up by the corner. "It is Lady Lorrimer's, I'm sure."
"Do, dear," said mamma, and she continued her confidences in Doctor Droqville's ear.
Papa smiled a little satirically as he read it. He threw it across the table, saying:
"You can read it, Ethel; it concerns you rather."
I was very curious. The hand was youthful and pretty, considering Lady Lorrimer's years. It was a whimpering, apathetic, selfish little note. She was miserable, she said, and had quite made up her mind that she could not exist in London smoke. She had sent for the doctor.
She continued: "I shall make an effort to see you, if you can look in about three, for a few minutes. Have you any of your children with you? If they are very quiet I should like to see them. It would amuse me. It is an age since I saw your little people, and I really forget their ages, and even their names. Say if I am to expect you at three. I have told the servant to wait."